Ghosts That We Knew
by Qrimzi
Summary: Just as they begin to find their way again in the wake of unimaginable tragedy, in the middle of investigating a possible act of terrorism, Jane and Lisbon discover that you can't avoid making the tough decisions forever. WARNING: character death addressed as a past event (not Jane or Lisbon). Angst. Casefile. Lisbon/other romance. Jealous!Jane. Jane/Lisbon romance.
1. Chapter 1

A/N- This story is angst, character death, but also romance. It's the fruit of so many thoughts and theories and spoilers about where the show is going with several weeks to wait until it actually returns. I thought I'd weave them all into a worst case scenario story, and then try to see our heroes through. This fic is backdropped against a casefile. Though, I think, a slightly more complex one than from my previous fic.

Spoilers up to 6x12. AU from there.

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, the only thing I gain from their use is hiatus survival. Lyrics from 'Ghosts That We Knew' used without permission. No harm intended.

* * *

_**PART I**_

* * *

Chapter One

* * *

_She couldn't do this._

Teresa Lisbon had always sworn that if ever she found herself caught in a rushing current, if ever she were submerged, overwhelmed, lost, that she would fight against it for all she was worth. She wouldn't be someone who capitulated to the unrelenting tide, who resigned themselves to drifting away. No, she'd keep swimming, damn it, find the shore, return quickly to solid ground.

But it had been three months. Three months, and here she was, struggling to draw air into her lungs. Her chest was on fire, her throat constricted. She was drowning, and she just didn't have the energy to keep treading these waters in avoidance of the fate she had once thought herself so capable of rising above.

The bathroom sink's porcelain edge bit into her forearms where she leaned against it, bent over, feet slowly slipping against aqua tile as they grappled to find stability beneath her trembling weight. Her head was spinning, and with one tear-clouded look at herself in the mirror, her face blotched red and plastered with damp tendrils of hair, she gave in and lowered herself down to the floor. She wrapped her arms across her naked chest, drew up her knees, and allowed her cheek to press into the cool linoleum. Gasping, shaking, she lay there, the occasional sob that would well up and break it's way through the torment she had become immersed in echoing between the walls.

'Special Agent Teresa Lisbon is fit and ready for duty.' That's what the report from the psychiatrist's office had stated not five days ago. It concluded that she had come to accept her role in the events that unfolded this past January. That she was devastated, but that was healthy. Guilt-ridden, but that was normal. In pain, but coping appropriately and moving forward. Lisbon had been pleased when she'd received a copy of the report late last week, knowing that the Austin FBI office had received one, as well. And, sure enough, Kim Fischer was on the other end of Lisbon's phone when it had vibrated a few hours later.

"Everything's a go. Abbott submitted the paperwork this afternoon and the Deputy Director signed off on it almost immediately. You're welcome to start back on Monday." Lisbon could hear the other woman's smile. They'd genuinely formed a bond somewhere along the way. Not a close one by any means, they'd hardly spoken apart from their time on the job together. But they were kindred spirits of sorts, two women who'd proven themselves capable in a man's world.

"That's the news I was hoping for when I got my mail, today."

"Looking forward to getting back into the grind?"

"Yeah, you could say that. It will be nice to finally have something to occupy my time besides learning how to make great-tasting meals 'for the whole family' in under an hour and watching people fail lie detector tests." And besides sitting in silence, hot tears sliding down her cheeks. Besides listening to the endless litany of self-flagellation that ran inside her head. Besides going over and over and over the 'what-ifs' that haunted her, tormented her...

"Hmm, that doesn't sound so bad to me, actually, but I'm glad you're feeling better, Teresa. I'd kind of gotten used to having some girl power here, it'll be good to have you back."

"Well I just hope Jane hasn't been too much trouble." Too much trouble. She knew from Cho that although Jane had been morose and quite short with others, he had been, for the most part, deferential and helpful on a number of cases in the months of her absence from active duty. She'd almost started to worry the FBI wouldn't want her to return.

"He's... Jane. You know. Sort of. We've been getting by. But like I said, it will be good to have you back."

"Thank you. I guess I'll be seeing you all on Monday. Anything I should read up on?"

"Nope. We just wrapped up something in Louisiana, but you probably know that from Jane?" Lisbon stayed silent in the pause that followed, not confirming any contact with her partner outside of work. Fischer took the hint. "Anyway, we have nothing new assigned at the moment. It'll be a fresh start for you Monday."

_A fresh start..._

Lisbon, who had been pacing absent-mindedly, had frozen in that moment, stricken. She'd been doing better. She had been. But something about those words... they jarred against the fragile composure she fought so constantly to maintain.

_A fresh start._

A fresh start. For her. Even though she was the one who'd screwed up. She was the one who had been too caught up in feeling free from worry and stress for the first time in God knows how long to stop and take Ardiles seriously, to really consider why he'd sought her out with his concerns. Her. Specifically.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she'd murmured into the disconnected phone line after managing her goodbye to Fischer. But no matter how many times she had said those words since January, Lisbon couldn't feel any forgiveness, couldn't find any reprieve from suffocating remorse. Apology had become the mantra that carried her through each day now, like a heartbeat. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry.._. but still, she could never say it enough to make the words anything more than a laughably hollow offering in exchange for the sacrifice made to her carelessness.

_A fresh start._

Ever since learning of the horror that had been discovered in San Francisco, she couldn't accept that she deserved normalcy, deserved the ability to get up and follow routine, to be little, mundane... to live a life untouched by what she'd done.

She didn't deserve what a fresh start would offer.

Normalcy mocked her. Normal was what she'd had as someone else fought for their life. And right up until Dennis Abbott came rushing over to where she and the rest of their unit were finishing up case reports from the Whitaker murder, up until he had ordered them all to follow him—immediately—that day, too, had been deceivingly, cruelly normal.

* * *

_"What's going on?" Teresa Lisbon, along with Patrick Jane and Kimball Cho, had been hastily ushered into the Austin FBI office's war room. They were greeted by a large group of men and women, some sitting around the large dark table that occupied the center of the glass cell, but most standing like human panels around the transparent walls, obscuring the view of anyone outside who might be wondering, like Teresa, what the fuss was about._

_The moment they had entered the room, a hush had fallen, and the last sound for several long moments had been the gentle snick of Abbott closing the door behind them._

_"Something is very, very wrong." Jane muttered from her right. Then, loud enough to address the room, "Is this about the vending machine? Because I honestly didn't know the glass would shatter, you see people kick them on TV all the time. And Lisbon and Cho here," he added, pointing to them as if no one would know who he meant, "are innocent, they had no idea their snacks were pilfered."_

_Lisbon rolled her eyes beside him and quietly hissed, "That was you?"_

_"Well, I didn't mean it to be."_

_"You don't kick FBI property, I don't care if you think it'll break or not."_

_"It took my dollar and then failed to keep it's end of the bargain."_

_"Jane-" she started, but their hushed exchange was interrupted by an older woman clearing her throat and glaring at them from where she sat at the table. Three chairs across from her were left open, and she stretched out her hand toward them, palm up, in impatient gesture for the Lisbon, Jane, and Cho to take a seat. They complied._

_"You have no idea why you're here, today?" The woman asked them, her red manicured nails tapping the table._

_"No." Cho answered._

_"Let me start with some introductions. I am Special Agent Doris Saliba, Chief Supervising Agent for the California field office. And behind me are Special Agents Michael Davis, Leland James, and Audrey Laughlin from Illinois, New Mexico, and New York, respectively, where they each hold the position of Chief Supervisor. Everyone else can be properly introduced later, but let me assure you that we have assembled our best people to be here today." Agent Saliba handed a pile of three thick navy blue folders to Cho, and he passed two to Lisbon, who gave one to Jane. They exchanged concerned glances, growing more anxious with each passing second._

_"Now let's get right to it. We have reason to believe that your lives are in danger. We believe this because as of last night, you three are the only living members of your old unit that you served in before the dissolution of the California Bureau of Investigation."_

_Another hush fell as it seemed like the whole room held their breaths, just waiting for Saliba's words to sink in for the three longtime colleagues. The only living members... the only living members... the only... living..._

_"Please tell me you're not saying..." Lisbon felt a knot in the pit of her stomach, her apprehension increasing tenfold. It couldn't be. It couldn't be. Under the table she felt Jane's hand close over her knee, and when she turned to look at him, she received all the confirmation she needed. He was staring at his open folder, face white, eyes... almost wild._

_She whipped her head around to Cho. His trademark stoicism had been replaced by horror. Abruptly, he slapped his folder closed, pushed back from the table, and, shouldering past Abbott and Fischer, briskly left the war room. No one tried to stop him._

_Lisbon closed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and finally began taking in the contents of her folder. There were numerous sheets of paper clipped inside, typical case report documents, and she could see the glossy edges of photos peaking out from beneath them._

_Her heart hammered. This couldn't be happening._

_Contained on the summary page were several names she knew very well from her days in California, and also several she didn't. As she read on, she realized that the unfamiliar names belonged to family members of the people with whom she had worked so closely for the majority of her career. So many names, every one an open homicide case. Lisbon was starting to feel lightheaded as she scanned further down the page, and by the time she finished, she was trying not to vomit. It was worse than she had even imagined, unbelievably worse._

No, no, no. This couldn't be happening.

Osvaldo Ardiles. Unsolved homicide.

Wayne Rigsby. Unsolved homicide.

Grace van Pelt-Rigsby. Unsolved homicide.

Madeleine Rigsby. Unsolved homicide.

_Lisbon had reached under the table to grip Jane's hand where he was still grasping her knee, and they shared a look. Ardiles must not have been paranoid. Not at all._

_And she could have nipped this in the bud. The opportunity had been hers._

* * *

Nearly four months from that day, she was planning to just move on, get up each morning, begin to function once again like nothing had happened.

_A fresh start._

What right did she have to that kind of normalcy? What right did she have to look forward to a fresh start when she was to blame for destroying the one Rigsby and van Pelt had made for themselves? And Maddy, so very little Maddy, she'd barely had her start at all.

Mercifully, Benjamin Rigsby had been with his mother the weekend half of his family had been taken, but he would have his own start marred for life. Every time he found himself in need of guidance, every time he'd look out into the crowd after a school performance, or wanted to celebrate a victory, his father wouldn't be there for him. Not ever. His sister, too, gone. Lisbon knew what it was like to lose a parent as a child, how it shaped you around grief and sorrow, how jealousy over peers who didn't know how good they had it with two people to love and protect them, to give them a heritage, tainted friendships. Now, in return for her heedlessness that cost the little boy a happy, normal future, she was being offered a fresh start.

That Thursday afternoon following Fischer's call, Lisbon had quickly managed to pull herself together, let a now familiar numbness settle over her, and keep going. But the thoughts surrounding her fresh start were relentless as they pursued her through the rest of the evening, through Friday, over the weekend, and on into Monday. She couldn't escape them as she settled in to watch a badly done courtroom reenactment on TV. They warred with Jane's voice for dominance in her mind when he had shown up at her door on Friday, insisting that she please eat, he'd brought her favorite, and again, on Saturday, when he'd tried to coax her out to the shooting range to let off some steam. On Sunday they followed her to the hairdresser, the nail salon, and finally home, where she ignored Jane's phonecall and curled up in bed just before 6:00 pm.

Then Monday morning... Monday morning as she woke up to an alarm clock for the first time in weeks, as she washed her freshly clipped locks, and stared at herself in the bathroom mirror while she brushed her teeth... Monday morning, as everything went normally for her and she prepared for her fresh start, her determination to accept it and move on collapsed around her.

Later, Teresa wouldn't be able to say how long she'd been on the floor before exhaustion overtook her and she closed her eyes, her shuddering ceased, and her arms loosened their protective grip around her.

But she did remember the final thought that carried her away once she surrendered to the grief._ Like father, like daughter._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

* * *

He found her in front of her toilet and sink, the pair standing over her prostrate form. She was naked and still and for a moment he thought she was gone from him for good, and the dizziness he felt nearly knocked him down beside her. But Lisbon was so thin that when he managed to steady himself, it really wasn't hard to see the breaths that were lifting her ribs in rhythmic confirmation of life. Her life. _Thank God_.

He grabbed a large coral-colored bath towel from where it hung on the wall rack above her and draped it over her body. Carefully stepping between Lisbon and her comical guards, he slid his arms underneath her, one at her shoulders and the other under her knees. She didn't stir. _Jesus, what happened?_ Awkwardly, he lifted her up, and relief washed over him again when he felt her weight against his chest. _Warm_. _Alive_._ She was okay_. Now he needed to figure out how to get her out of there. Her bathroom was small, no wider than the tub that lined its far wall, and with her limbs and head hanging slack he could foresee trouble maneuvering them out into the even narrower hallway.

He eventually made it to her bedroom, wincing at the way her ankle had cracked against the bathroom doorframe, and lay her down on the queen-sized bed he found there, still covered with the towel. He didn't like how small she looked, how fragile. How when he'd held her she felt like silk canvas spread taut over bone. Sitting beside her on the bed, he brushed her dark hair back from her face. Like the eggplant-colored duvet she lay on, it contrasted harshly against her unnervingly pale skin. He squeezed his eyes shut against the sting of tears.

He knew where she was. He knew well. Nearly a third of his life had been spent right where she was.

The reason he'd even survived, the person he credited with being the anchor that ultimately saw him through the storm, was Lisbon.

She had a strength he had been drawn to immediately. She was tenacious as hell, walking around with her chin stuck out in defiance of anyone who would dare get in her way. But she was also... just _decent_. He had seen it in her the moment he'd first spoken with her, when she'd tried to send him home with nothing more than platitudes. She didn't want him to leave in those early days simply to get him off her back, she wanted him gone so she could focus, do her job. Because as tough an air as she wore, she cared deeply. She genuinely cared—about Angela, about Charlotte, about every other victim's name that passed across her desk. That the CBI might want to avoid a lawsuit, thus giving him leverage to stay, wasn't the only reason he'd badgered a punch out of Agent Hannigan all those years ago. The way to get near Teresa Lisbon, the agent heading the Red John investigation, would be to garner her sympathies. And, sure enough...

In the intervening years that they'd worked together, she had become almost like a drug to him. He felt wonderful being near her. She was a challenge. Stubborn, a bit restrained, but with a playfulness he had enjoyed discovering under that tough exterior. And once he'd earned her friendship, she still never went easy on him, steadfastly refusing to relinquish him to the darkness that threatened to consume him. In exchange, Jane hadn't always been fair to her, he knew, leaving her to agonize over his whereabouts and safety more than once as he pursued his demons, but she had always welcomed him back. With a well-deserved tongue-lashing, but still. And he did always come back, unable, unwilling, to free her completely from his own curse.

Jane had been trying for months now to reach her as she'd reached him. He vacillated between cajoling her into spending time with him, and thinking she might need space to come to terms with what she was feeling in the aftermath of Grace, Wayne, and baby Maddy's murders. But he couldn't bring himself to leave her to her own thoughts for long. Even on out of state assignments, he called her, interrupted her self-imposed solitude with deliveries of her favorite candy, or ridiculous little gifts he found on the internet that he thought might make her smile.

But she was hard on herself, as hard as he'd ever been on himself for Angela and Charlotte's deaths. From what little she would confide in him, he knew she felt culpable because she hadn't keep Ardiles in Houston to dig deeper into his concerns, blamed herself for brushing the man off instead of doing what she felt it was her job to do: investigate and find answers. Lisbon had convinced herself that any number of actions but the one she ultimately took—sending Ardiles straight to Wayne Rigsby and Grace van Pelt's surveillance company—would have spared the man and young family.

And Jane had to admit—though not ever to Lisbon—that he harbored his own gnawing guilt over their spilled blood and everything else that had happened those few short months ago. He should have focused more on Ardiles' motives, explored his curiosities about why the man would have flown all the way down to Houston over a bugged phone.

Instead, he had been grappling with how unbalanced he felt not just by the thought of Lisbon going out to dinner with another man, but by the way she made light of it, the way she talked to him about the date with Fischer right there as though she were in the company of two girlfriends. He'd watched her closely to see if she was flirting with him, teasing him when she'd called her dinner with Ardiles a date. Jane couldn't see anything in her but playfulness. The more he'd dwelled on that fact, the more it bothered him.

Before McCallister, before living two years in absence of her, he had never really lent much credence to the idea of Lisbon having a social life. On top of her being fairly aloof when it came to her appeal, and single-minded when it came to her career, she was nervous about letting people in. Getting close to her was a one-sided excursion in which one had to slowly wheedle their way past her resolve to never risk someone like her father, or the criminals she spent her days pursuing, have access to her heart. That suddenly she wasn't the least bit demure about the subject of dating had Jane worrying about how she would have responded if Ardiles _had_ been pursuing her, and what that would mean when another man eventually did.

Was she _hoping_ to date? Jane felt a painful twinge in his chest. He had no claim on her, but somehow he had gotten the idea that—

He slumped over, bracing his elbows on his knees. It had been a long time since they were free to think about futures, since guilt, an old friend of his, hadn't been stronger than the incredible resolve he knew her to possess.

Guilt is such a potent thing. He gently touched the red marks on her shoulder where they peaked out from beneath the bath towel. More potent than even your own wounds.

* * *

_Lisbon had been missing for five days. Rigsby and van Pelt were dead, along with so many others from their CBI days, and the last time he'd seen Lisbon was when she was escorted out of the FBI building by a fellow agent immediately following their meeting with Agent Saliba. The agent was supposed to keep lookout for her while she grabbed an overnight bag from her home and then both were to promptly return to the Austin field office. Jane, Lisbon, and Cho were to be under twenty-four hour guard until the situation was understood and contained. Two hours and a few dozen inquiries from Jane about her whereabouts later, and he had overheard that a body was found at Lisbon's Georgetown, TX address._

_Following a small scuffle with an agent from Illinois who continued to give Jane the runaround to his now panicked questions about Lisbon, Fischer and Abbott pulled him into an interrogation room. The agent who had accompanied Lisbon was dead. Lisbon was nowhere to be found, but from the looks of her home, she had put up one hell of a fight. Blood discovered in her bedroom was already in the forensics lab awaiting DNA testing._

_The FBI building was a flurry of activity straight through that first night she was gone. Cho had worked inexorably alongside Agent Jason Wylie, despite his own grief, to figure out the implications of what Grace van Pelt had discovered on her computer the evening she was killed. Jane poured over countless crime scene photos, pausing only once, briefly, to digest the fact that he had spent so much time staring at them, the sight of his old colleagues bloodied and lifeless was no longer making him cringe._

_Everyone else... he didn't know what exactly everyone else was doing, but he felt vaguely comforted by the chaos around him. They weren't sparing any effort in the search for Lisbon, and the camaraderie of thirty or so people working relentlessly toward the same goal made it easier to disguise the elephant in the room: considering every other victim had been found slain within 24 hours of the last time they were seen alive, Teresa Lisbon was, in all likelihood, already deceased._

_The second night passed into the third with no sign of Lisbon, and no concrete leads. The list of who would target a law enforcement team was not small, even whittled down to those with known skills in technology, a move Jane had argued was nonsensical and a waste of precious time, anyway._

_He insisted that they need look only at the wealthy, and those with widespread influence. Distance had proven no obstacle for their perpetrator. Whoever he was—and he was a 'he'—crossed the country several times in a matter of days to hunt down ex-CBI agents. This was no pissed off geek they were pursuing, but someone pissed off and financially capable of hiring a geek to have bugged numerous cellphones and computers._

_Ninety-eight hours after he had watched Lisbon walk out of the FBI building for the last time, a small envelope was received in the mailroom addressed to Patrick Jane._

_Ninety-nine, and the forensics team finally let him read it for himself._

_One hundred, and DNA testing from blood samples taken at Lisbon's residence came back with an impossible match._

_One hundred and one, and security cameras confirmed that the FBI consultant had himself disappeared. Two hours before._

* * *

Jane had been on the edge of Lisbon's bed for at least an hour, reflecting on the last several months, cursing what had been done to her and the rest of their CBI family, before she began to move beside him. He turned his head away to give her privacy, unsure of how much the bath towel would continue to conceal during her fitful return to consciousness.

"Man down, huh?" He attempted to joke when he heard her groan.

"Son of a bitch," she croaked. "Jane—how did you get in here? No, nevermind. I can guess. What time is-" He tensed as the energy in the room changed, and he knew awareness must have finally hit her. Awareness for her state of undress, and realization that there would be only one explanation for how she could have ended up here, on her bed.

"Teresa, it's okay. Whatever happened, you have nothing to be ashamed of."

No answer.

"How did you manage to convince anyone you were ready to do this?" He said more sharply than he intended, the tight rein on his frustrations—at her blocking him out, at the world, at the way they never seemed to catch a break—slipping away into yet another one of her increasingly typical silences.

"Please go." Her voice wavered.

He shook his head, still not facing her. "No."

"Jane, I want you to get out."

"Okay. Okay, but I'm just going to your kitchen. It's only 10:00 am. I brought breakfast. We can have it late when you decide to join me." Fighting the urge to turn around and look at her, to try and gauge her state of mind, he got up and left her alone. He'd have to wait until she put herself together.

Not that he would be holding his breath.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

* * *

Jane entrusted a reluctant Kimball Cho with the task of finagling a week's postponement for Lisbon's reinstatement at work. It would be up to Cho to come up with a good excuse for why she needed it, because Jane's rambling story in which Lisbon, suffering from bordom, went rogue and decided to unilaterally solve a great international mystery, the consequence of which being that she now found herself knee-deep in case reports she would have to fill out alone, was met with a dial tone. As—completely at a loss, himself—Jane had hoped it would be.

It was just after 1:00 in the afternoon, and Lisbon's house had seen no activity since he'd first settled in at her small dining table. The only sound besides the aggravating tick, tick, tick of her wall clock was the intermittent rustling of pages.

He'd realized fairly quickly that Lisbon had no intention of leaving her room anytime soon, and, after dourly tossing the muffin he'd brought for her into the garbage can under the sink, helped himself to a tour of her home. He'd spent a lot of time here in the last three or so months, but Lisbon had always been his singular focus as he begged her to eat, to get some fresh air, to talk to someone, _please_, it didn't have to be him. He wasn't about to waste this opportunity to indulge in undistracted perusal.

Jane could count on one hand the number if times he'd been inside her place in California, but he remembered it's interior hadn't been much different than the one-story Spanish colonial she'd recently purchased here in Texas. And, like her former home, this house was itself rather bland, the walls and floors various shades of brown accented with white molding that brightened up the space just enough. But he could picture her first stepping into the quaint little living room, smiling instantly at its earthy warmth, enjoying the way the sun shone through the blinds on the front window to cast a mellow light over the whole space.

Walking into someone's personal domain was like receiving a visual of their core personality, Lisbon's home being no exception. He saw her presence in these walls. Signs of her life surrounded him, and he felt comforted. Her decorating was sparse, reserved, but a blanket thrown haphazardly across the sofa, an empty glass of wine on the coffee table, papers strewn across her desk, and worn cardboard boxes marked "casefiles" placed sporadically throughout—he'd even tripped on one in the already-cramped galley kitchen—served as evidence of her more complex, but familiar personality.

Aside from the 'Worlds Best Aunt' mug sitting on her desk, it's duty to hold an assortment of pens and pencils, the only other novelties he could find were on her bookshelves. There were some empty vases, a ceramic figurine of a girl—chips of color missing from her delicate face and fingers—that he imagined she was somehow connected to Lisbon's mother, and a few decorative boxes of varying sizes.

After noting her book collection and studying the pictures tucked in mismatched frames on her walls and desk, trying to identify the smiling faces, he began to peek inside drawers. Not finding anything significant there, his attention turned to the boxes on her shelves. Opening them one by one, he found a few pieces of jewelry, some stones he thought were vaguely familiar, and then... and then, when he opened the largest of them...

"Oh," he breathed, running his fingertips across the papers he found inside. They were crinkled and slightly discolored. His letters to her. She'd kept them. Underneath the pile of forty or so opened letters from him—he'd written her as often as he dared once he finally made his way to Venezuela—he found eleven envelopes. Two were addressed to Pete, his dear friend who had been brave and generous enough to deliver Jane's letters to Lisbon. One letter was from Pete to Lisbon, explaining that contact with Jane only went one way, which was true; he'd been sure to leave no way to directly contact him. Though, apparently, it hadn't been too hard for the FBI to trace the letters back, anyway. The final eight letters were addressed to Jane, care of the FBI detention center. All were scrawled with, 'return to sender'.

His attention went to the two letters with Pete's address._ She'd written him back._ Staring at them, he wondered how he would have felt had he received these in Venezuela, had he been able to hold something from her there. Upon opening her first letter at the table, taking in her stories about the complete collapse of the CBI, her uncertainty about how she was going to cope in Washington, her gratefulness at finally hearing from him and her wish for his safety...

It was nothing unexpected or particularly revealing, but tears he'd been holding back for weeks finally began to trail down his cheeks. He wanted to be there with her. For these things. The little things. The scary things. There was no doubt in his mind that had he held these letters in Venezuela, he would have crumbled. He wouldn't have been able to lull himself into a sense of peace each day as he wrote his own letters to her, somehow convincing himself they were even a remotely acceptable substitute for being able to look at her, have a conversation with her. He'd have held tangible proof that her life was moving forward without him, that no pause button had been pressed, and he's certain it would have destroyed him.

He read through her words once, then again, and was five sheets into his third reading when he looked up to see her standing at the doorway between her kitchen and dining area, arms folded around herself, watching him. She was apprehensive, as if waiting for him to hurt her, to mock what he was reading. "Hey," he greeted her.

"Hey."

"Um... thank you. For the letters," he managed around the lump in his throat, repeating what she'd once said to him.

"You were snooping," she half-heartedly accused, coming toward the table and sitting down adjacent to him.

"Mm-hm." He agreed. Going through their letters had taken him back to the desolate feeling he'd felt for those two years in his lost man's paradise, and he couldn't bring himself to stop staring at her. She had dressed in jeans and a grey t-shirt that hung from her frame, and her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. The small smile that had been tugging at his lips pulled into a full-blown grin.

She returned it, but there was no happiness in her eyes when they flicked to his. She seemed sluggish, weighed down, as if the sadness she'd struggled against these last months had finally overrun her.

"What happened this morning?" He reached over and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear so he could get an unobstructed view of her face.

She looked down, embarrassed. "Doesn't matter. It doesn't matter."

"It does matter."

Lisbon sighed, and rubbed her neck. She was quiet for a long time. He was about to write today off as yet another where she would keep everything she was feeling bottled up inside, but then she closed her eyes, tipped her head back, and surprised him. "You know, my dad gave up. He just... he gave up and checked out after my mother died and I always hated him for it, but I get it now. And I get you. It just becomes too much. It doesn't leave your mind. Constantly throughout the day, every single day, the smallest things make me think of them. And then I'm right back," The words had rushed out of her, but now she paused, breathing deeply. "I'm right back to knowing firsthand what they went through and knowing I could have set such a different course."

"And what if that different course had cost you your life?" He couldn't help himself.

She opened her eyes, hands still at her neck. "That would have been easier." Jane recoiled at that, and the look he shot her was one of disgust. She scoffed. "Oh, you're one to judge me."

"I didn't-I didn't wish to die, Lisbon. I was just willing to accept whatever consequence came with... came with..." He struggled to find the right words.

"You were willing to trade everything to assuage your guilt. I'm just... it didn't used to make sense to me. Now... God, I'd give anything..."

"Teresa, don't." He wanted to confess to her how grief over Rigsby and van Pelt never once overpowered the relief he felt that she was alive and here, with him, but he sensed that would be the wrong thing to say. Everything felt like the wrong thing to say.

"I didn't say I want to die," She clarified. "I'm just done pretending that I'm okay. That I even know how to be okay at this point."

"Don't let this overtake you, Lisbon. It's not the same thing. Red John was still out there, still killing people. The man who killed Grace, Wayne, and their baby, Abbott shot him. He's dead. You get to move on."

Lisbon studied him for a moment, her hands dropping to her lap. "I'm sorry. I'll tell that to the nightmares."

Jane grimaced. If there was one thing he never wanted for her, it was to feel the same anguish that robbed him of so many years. He lifted his left hand to rub his temple, and noticed her gaze follow it. What she had to say next, in a low, challenging voice, didn't surprise him, but stung all the same.

"He's dead. You get to move on."

He held his hand in front of him and looked at the plain gold band adorning his ring finger.

Touché.

"I'm sorry, you know." Lisbon said after a moment. "For pushing you all those years."

"No, no, no, it was the right thing to do." He shook his head emphatically.

"It didn't change anything. You still killed a man with your bare hands. You still ran away."

He bristled. He hadn't anticipated her holding him accountable for what he'd done—he may have a history of leaving physically, but Teresa Lisbon was no less guilty than he of racking up the miles on emotional distance. He felt an unexpected defensiveness welling up. "Would you have preferred to visit me in my jail cell?"

"No, I would have preferred..." She stopped herself, but he knew what she wanted to say. She would have preferred that he had never placed his hands around McCallister's throat at all. She would have preferred that, in the last seconds, he would have given up his vow to destroy the man and instead attempted to trust the legal system, despite it's far-reaching corruption they were only beginning to understand. What she really would have preferred was for him to have found some way, some possible way... to choose her. The friendship, the family, they'd forged.

He didn't want to fight with her. She wasn't going to make him change his lack of remorse, and he didn't think he could stand her adding any more to the self loathing he already felt about that fact. "Teresa, listen to me. You made me feel useful, gave me a challenge. You didn't make anything easy and that... it gave me something to look forward to in the morning. I meant it when I said to you that you have no idea what you've meant to me. I'm not going to sit back and watch you slip away."

* * *

**_Famished, weeping, weak,  
With hollow piteous shriek.  
Rising from unrest,  
The trembling woman pressed_**

**_With feet of weary woe;  
She could no further go.  
In his arms he bore  
Her, armed with sorrow sore;_**

**_'Till before their way  
A crouching lion lay._**

**_Patrick, we're each looking for something the other has._**

_Parked on a remote dirt road under a small alcove of trees, Jane had incessantly fingered the note sent to him at the FBI, his hands shaking, impatient to see the fleet of vehicles he had expected to join him hours earlier._

_He'd known where to look for Lisbon the moment he'd read this note. The verses, the handwriting so similar to script he'd seen before… He knew, he knew, and he found himself praying, begging that something out there with far-reaching mercy would decide enough loss had touched his life, and Lisbon's._

_If not _—_What would he do if she were gone? He'd already found out how well he handled her absence when he believed her to be out there, somewhere, healthy and living her life. If she were to be taken from him for good, and having suffered more than any one person should ever have to suffer in one lifetime, what would he do? Jane's stomach twisted painfully. He didn't accept it. She couldn't be dead. After everything they'd been through, they were both due a break. She couldn't be dead..._

_An SUV, headlights off to avoid conspicuity in the night, pulled up next to Jane's car and finally put an end to his imagination's abuse over two hours later than he had anticipated. He had stepped out to a dozen more SUV's sliding up through the darkness. Bone-wearyingly relieved, he had bent over at the waist, hands braced on his knees. Moments later, an agent he didn't recognize shoved Jane up against his car, jerked his arms behind his back, and snapped handcuffs around his wrists. Abbott's face came into view while Jane struggled against the other agent._

_"What the hell is the matter with you? Are you trying to make sure we find her like the rest of them?" Abbott punctuated his point by slamming his hand against the car. _

_Jane gave up efforts to free himself._ _"What bureaucratic red tape would you be standing behind right now if I'd gone through you? I wasn't about to beg for someone to listen to me for another day while she was out here."_

_"You've got to be kidding me—" His boss hissed through his teeth._

_"You're listening and you're here, aren't you?" Jane had counted on them following his path on FBI security tapes, tracing the information he'd sought and printed._

_Both men were breathing heavily from adrenaline, anger. Abbott studied Jane for a moment, then decided to move on from the subject of his consultant's stupidity. Temporarily, Jane was sure. "What do you have that this guy would want?"_

_"The USB stick with the list of Blake Association names. McCallister's. He was a loyal follower of Red John according to his brother. He must not know who actually has it, only that members of our CBI team were the ones to locate McCallister's storage room. That's why everyone's been targeted, tortured. He wants those names. I think Lisbon told him I had it, hoping he'd reach out for a trade."_

_Abbott indicated toward a small speck of light in the boxy shape of a window much further up the road. "And you knew to locate his name on cabin rentals because..."_

_"Long story."_

_"You're a lucky bastard, because DNA from Lisbon's house came back as a match for his twin. The man himself—not in the system. Anywhere. You're also lucky because the cabin's owner is granting us access to this property without a warrant, which would have been pretty damn tough to get at this hour."_

_"Can we just find Lisbon instead of dicking around out here?"_

_Abbott jerked his thumb toward an SUV. "Get him in the back and do not take your eyes off of him, am I clear?"_

_"What?" Jane began to struggle again. Abbott strutted off to a group of agents collecting a short distance away. "Abbott! Abbott!"_

_Jane found himself pressed face-first into a leather bench seat, and there he would stay until being released hours later in front of the ambulance bay of St. Luke's Memorial Hospital._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

* * *

You can never just walk away from people. It doesn't happen. Once you let someone touch your life, they will leave behind a phantom of themselves to haunt you long after they're gone. A person doesn't have to be living once your paths cross for them to make their lasting mark, either. For Teresa Lisbon, the sight of a particular hair color, the sweet smell of cut grass, the sound of water lapping against the hull of a boat, the taste of smoke, the heavy weight of her Glock_—_in a thousand different ways, all of her senses had become attached to the dead. Every day they took her back to the brutality of which humankind was unfathomably capable.

In California, she had started to find herself walking with the dead wherever she went. Where others might see a family home, or a park, or even a college campus worthy of little more than one's apathy, she saw a body, recollected the story of a person whose luck had run out. It's why she had so readily accepted the position of sheriff in a small Washington town. With nature more prevalent than man-made structure, she had felt her best chance at moving on from the CBI would be in Sacramento's complete and utter opposite.

But no matter how far you go, you can't ever outrun the ghosts that follow you home. When she looked at herself in the mirror, Lisbon saw her mother's green eyes staring back at her. In the food she cooked, in the way she folded her laundry, there you could find the sempiternal imprints of her mother's nurturing hands. Even when something made her laugh—a comic in the newspaper or a ridiculous comment on TV—sometimes she'd look over and see her father cracking up, too, hear his deep guffaw, know that on one of his very few better days, he'd have appreciated the humor just as much as she did.

And now, when she ran her hand over her right shoulder, felt the small knots of scar tissue just above her collar bone, she would flash on her entire body going rigid, fire burning through her skin and muscles, her teeth vibrating as they ground together, jaw clenching violently. Everything Grace and Wayne would have experienced before they, too, became ghosts that would haunt her.

* * *

_Her lip itched. Blood was trickling down from her nose and she wanted to wipe it away, but her hands were restrained behind her. Robert Kirkland's face waved in front of hers. How was that possible? He was going to electrocute her again. She knew it. Beside her, van Pelt begged her to free us. Us? Lisbon swung her head around as best she could. She felt listless. Her lip itched. Who's 'us'? She spotted him, then. He was bloodied and slumped backward in his chair. Rigsby. Just like Ardiles. Just like Keiffer, and Chavez. She heard a baby cry. Oh, God, Maddy. Lisbon writhed, fought against whatever bound her hands. She had to get free, she had to get them all out of here. Where was Maddy? She had to get free—_

_"Lisbon, you're fine. You're okay. No one's going to hurt you. You're safe. It's okay."_

_Now Jane was hovering over her, his brow pinched in concern._

_"Iss Kirklan'." She heard herself force out. "He s'alive."_

_"A different Kirkland, Lisbon. Michael, Robert's twin, a Red John protégé. He was trying to discover what was left of McCallister's empire. But we can talk about that later. Right now you need to relax. We need to get your heart-rate down."_

_Jane had faded from her view, and the next thing she became aware of was the cadence of her heart measured in annoying beeps, and sunlight stung her eyes when she tried to open them._

_God damn it to hell._

_"Get the blinds, Cho?" She heard Jane._

_Lisbon tried again to lift her eyelids when the insides of them dimmed from blood-red to black. Blinking several times, she had first seen Kimball Cho standing by a set of sealed vertical blinds._

_"Hey, Boss." He'd said, his voice hoarse._

_"Hey. You sound like you've been crying." She croaked. He folded his hands in front of himself and slid his eyes away from her. She took pity on the usually-stoic man. "It's good to see you, Cho."_

_He __smiled affectionately at her, a small laugh escaping his lips. "Yeah. You, too."_

_Jane added from where he occupied a chair by the side of her hospital bed, "It's very good to see you, Lisbon. Extremely good. We've gotta stop meeting like this." He looked pained, concern deepening the lines on his face._

_Lisbon struggled to push herself up on her elbows. "Kirkland had a brother?" She asked him, testing her memories._

_Jane nodded. "A twin brother who had a lot of resources available to him, presumably from McCallister. The FBI uncovered several more active members of the Blake Association, too, thanks to some documents found with Kirkland's things."_

_"How was I found?"_

_"The night Robert Kirkland took me... he was looking for Red John in order to find Michael. He told me he didn't even know if his brother was alive."_

_"That doesn't explain how anyone knew he was the one behind the murders."_

_"He sent me a note, Lisbon, basically bartering for the list of Blake Association names using you. The handwriting was similar to what I'd seen of Robert Kirkland's on Red John case reports. They both put the same feminine little flares on their capital letters." Jane illustrated his explanation with a fanciful stroke in the air. "It was a shot in the dark, but better than nothing. From there, he wasn't trying to hide. He must have believed no one knew about him."_

_"It was a damn good shot," Cho murmured._

_Jane stretched out his arm toward her, a crumpled piece of paper between his fingertips. She grabbed it, and let the words sink in. "This is Blake? This poem?"_

_Jane nodded his affirmative again._

_Jesus. McCallister had reached up from the depths of hell to play with them one more time._

_"What day is it? How long was I gone?"_

_In total, Lisbon had lost just over a week of her life. She spent five and a half days captive to a madman, two captive in her own mind as she slipped in and out of consciousness in a St. Luke's Memorial hospital bed, and the hospital tried, but failed, in adding at least one more full day to her confinement. But she'd signed herself out as soon as she could stand.__ She just wanted to get out of there, put Kirkland, the Blake Association, and her grief behind her as soon as she possibly could._

* * *

Lisbon hadn't wanted friendship with her colleagues. Her professional loyalties once earned were unshakeable, but she had vehemently resisted allowing anyone close enough to carve out a lasting spot in her life.

She'd been kidding herself.

You can't work day in and day out with people, collaborate with them, admire them, entrust them with your life, survive together horrors that no outsider could ever comprehend, and not form a profound bond. With affection, respect, and a low tolerance for bullshit, Lisbon had been part of a family, whether she liked it or not. And after the fall of the CBI, she'd actually found herself grateful that Rigsby and van Pelt had continued to seek her presence in their life. She'd looked forward to their visits. She savored the fact that, though Jane was gone and Cho went full tilt into furthering his career, two people hadn't been willing to accept her absence. It felt good.

They had been gone four months now, yet as Lisbon stepped through her front door, exhausted from having spent hours in an overheated car with Fischer and Jane as their work took them to numerous locations under the searing Texas sun, her eyes were drawn to the landline on her wall. She still expected a call from Grace. An update on Maddy. A request for advice regarding her and Rigsby's surveillance business. A proposal for a get-together, because it had been awhile, and they should catch up.

Lisbon wanted to roll her eyes like it was a burden to accommodate the younger woman. She wanted to plan the dinner she'd make for them. See her couch full. Show them in person her new house, and let van Pelt see that she'd used her suggestion to replace the carpet in the living room with a dark hardwood floor.

She sighed and threw her keys on an espresso end table, not bothering to rescue them when they noisily slid across the surface and disappeared off the edge. Instead, she made a beeline for her bathroom, seeking the solace of a warm, calming bath. It was something that helped. Whenever the ghosts in her home threatened to drag her under, to float in the still water for a while, it was a reprieve from having to swim so vigorously against the current of tormenting remorse all day. It was a chance to stop fighting, just for awhile.

Because fight is exactly what she had chosen to do. Her painful exchange with Jane at her dining room table had proven more enlightening for her than the over thirty sessions with the Bureau's psychiatrist she'd had to endure. For a moment, she'd gotten to see herself from a removed perspective. She could see herself knocking on Jane's door, demanding he not shut her out. Standing over him, insisting he get up, help her find justice for the voiceless. How often she had resented for Angela and Charlotte that, despite the beauty she knew they possessed from photographs and Jane's recounting of their lives, they had left an angry shadow of a man behind them. And how she had hated that her own mother's legacy was her father destroying the whole family with his sorrow. Lisbon had spent her whole life refusing to accept wallowing when there was still critical work to do, when the dead deserved more than suffering attached to their memory.

So she started getting up each day determined to do the good and honorable work that Rigsby and van Pelt had lived for. She'd become more determined to pick up her pieces. They were feebly put together, but pick them up she did. She had to fight this tide no matter how far away the shore looked, if only to repay them for her negligence.

Stripping her shirt off and catching her reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror, Lisbon eyed the numerous taser scars on her right shoulder, thought of the older matching scar on her ribs. This had gradually gotten easier for her, seeing the marks that confirmed the deaths of her colleagues, the physical reminder that it wasn't all just a bad dream.

She twisted the spigot in the tub and tested the water that spilled out, leaving it to run at a temperature far higher than she probably should. As she watched the water level rise, her mind went back to her scars.

Lately, they made her think of Jane, too. She was curious about whether he'd seen them. Whether he'd seen them... God, what wouldn't he have seen the day anxiety left her on the chilled tile floor? She poured scented oil into the full bath and sank into the steaming water. Then, for the first time, instead of blushing and covering her face at the thought of the state in which Jane had found her, a stuttering laugh escaped her lips. She hadn't heard from him outside of work since her reinstatement a month ago, and maybe that had something to do with it. He probably didn't know what to do with her after that eyeful.

But she itched to reach out to him. She missed him. Her company had been lousy, she knew, but she had grown used to having him underfoot in the last few months. For some reason, she genuinely hadn't expected him to back away this time.

Her mistake. With Jane, she should have foreseen a dance of one step forward, two steps back. It's just the way it had always been with him. For every milestone she thought they'd reached in their relationship, it always felt as if he came up with something to weigh like a millstone between them. When their friendship seemed to grow in comfort, he would distance himself. Disappear. When the trust between them seemed no longer to be given with reticence, he'd spiral into renewed earnest to end things with Red John once and for all, no matter the cost. And when Red John was no more... so was he. For two long years.

Patrick Jane was a good man, but he was very much his own man. When he'd returned to the US, she'd mused to herself on that first flight to Texas that he had become like the dog she'd had as a girl. Despite the scraggly yellow lab possessing a loyalty that always brought him back, persistent and resolute as he was to attend to whatever business he had on the other side of the chain link gate, she'd learned to have no expectations for whether he would be there when she returned home from school each day. And though she slept easier when she was able to go to bed knowing right where he was, she'd had to learn to sleep with worry, too. So it became, in a way, with Jane. She loved the man. Warts and all, she loved him. But he wasn't always going to be there. She'd had to learn to live without him more than once, and she figured she probably would have to again, one day. After all, he had barely four years left in his FBI contract. What then?

Rather than wish for more from him, she decided to appreciate as many nights as she could have knowing right where to find him. At least when she was able to see him at work, she wasn't wondering and fretting about his safety.

She laughed to herself again, softly. It was almost as if her dog had been picked up by the pound. She could visit him, but he wasn't really hers. And it was good enough. It had to be. Better than his ghost, to be sure.

* * *

_So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light,  
'Cause oh, that gave me such a fright  
And I will hold on with all of my might,  
Just promise me we'll be alright._

_-Ghosts That We Knew, Mumford & Sons_

* * *

AN—Thanks so much to everyone who's read this far and left kind comments. Chapter five, the first chapter of Part II and the start of the casefile, will be up soon. And bear with me, guys, this will definitely be a Jisbon story. They just need to find their way to the same page.


	5. Chapter 5

AN—After a lot of thought, I decided I didn't want to touch on Marcus Pike, to try to incorporate a character that actually will exist but in a completely unknown capacity at this point. I think creating a new character for Lisbon's romantic interest allows this fic to stand strictly as AU rather than AU _and_ painfully OOC once Marcus Pike is introduced on our screens.

* * *

**_PART II_**

* * *

Chapter Five

* * *

Friday mornings at Pearlville Shopping Plaza, a sandy-colored U-shaped structure located in the center of a small Austin suburb, never saw more activity than last minute shoppers squeezing in preparations for their weekend before work, or school, or whatever else their day would hold. This Friday had started out much the same, with little more to set it apart than the gentle plop of raindrops falling to the ground and deepening the color of the sidewalks. But now, what had begun minutes ago as a drizzle was steadily gaining strength, and people caught in the parking lot were scurrying around seeking shelter, either inside one of the many shops or back to their cars, plastic bags and magazines held over heads in the absence of umbrellas. Above it all, the August sky was dark with grey clouds that broiled and tumbled, agitating one another, readying to break the quiet of the morning with their bellow. Then, two deafening sounds, one deep and resonating, the other a high-pitched squeal, beat them to it.

An explosion, followed by a chorus of car alarms. Not to be outdone, a violent crack of thunder reverberated down on the growing frenzy below.

* * *

"It's a Lexus, one of the hybrids. Gotta be newer. Whoever's behind this had some money to spare." The Austin FBI office's lead terrorism investigator whistled in admiration, then, in sheer disbelief, shook his head. He'd been on international assignments that left him no stranger to the carnage that came with the detonation of a vehicle, but this... this was in his own back yard. With careful monitoring of extremist groups from many different backgrounds, his team had always managed to prevent domestic threats to the greater Austin area, not that there were very many to even worry about. How had they missed this one? For Christsakes, right in front of Marvin's grocery. Of all places. Everyone he knew got their milk here, got whatever they needed from _this_ shopping strip.

"Look at those heels, Lee." His partner pointed below what was left of the steering console where, amidst the gray and white of ash and firefighting foam settled over the still-smoldering carcass of the car, two feet were sitting, disconnected from their body a few inches above the ankle. They were small, delicate, clad in strappy high-heel shoes that appeared to have once been a soft shade of pink. It was a wonder they were there, almost as if they didn't yet realize they'd been disembodied and were still waiting to press the pedals and flee for safety.

"So we have a wealthy woman looking to kill herself and potentially take others with her for... what, exactly? What message? Do we know anything?" Levi worked his way to the back of the car where some bright red paint on the bumper remained, contrasting sharply against the rest of the mangled and scorched shell. He'd already sent the plate numbers to a colleague who worked backgrounds and was waiting to hear back about who owned this Lexus. In the meantime, they were working with practically nothing. He stood there, breathing in the musty smell of recent rain mixed with the uniquely bitter scent of char, one hand on his hip and the other pushing through his black hair in frustration.

His partner, Grayson Bordeaux, shrugged. "There's been nothing on the grid. Nothing reported, none of our working undercover agents have reported a God damned thing..." He shrugged again, equally at a loss.

"Well. We can't just stand here like idiots," Levi gave a quick tilt of his head, indicating toward the crowd and reporters that were gathered behind police tape around the perimeter of the grocery store parking lot. "How do you want to go about pretending like we actually know what's happening here before our bomb experts and Abbott's team show up?"

"I was gonna say we could just gesture wildly while talking about last night's game, but it looks like reinforcements are finally here." The two agents backed up as specialists from forensics and the bomb squad swarmed in, then turned to greet the second group of investigators Levi had called in on a whim.

"What can we do for you, Monteleza?"

"Nice to see you too, Abbott. Hey, Fischer." Levi greeted his longtime colleagues, but his eyes, squinting against the afternoon sun, quickly searched past them. He smiled when he spotted the toe-headed man trailing a few yards behind. "So this is Patrick Jane, huh? Levi Monteleza," he introduced himself.

"And Teresa Lisbon," Jane pointed to the brunette woman beside him.

Oh, this was an interesting development. Levi had heard the name Lisbon in connection to Patrick Jane, and then also during a kidnapping case that had the entire FBI field office buzzing several months ago, but he'd never so much as seen a photo of her. He didn't realize...

"And this is my partner, Gray Bordeaux." Bordeaux added for Levi, giving him a friendly shove out of the way to shake hands with Lisbon, then Jane.

"Why are we here?" Lisbon reiterated Abbott's question.

"Uh... Your asset, actually. We want to get this under control as quickly as possible." Monteleza explained, "It seems like we were lucky this time, we're not seeing any victims aside from whoever was behind the wheel of the car. But if there's a 'next time' brewing, I was hoping Patrick Jane here could get us one step ahead."

Jane leaned toward Lisbon. "I'm your asset, did you hear?"

Her mouth tilted in a wry smile. "Yeah, I heard." To Levi, she joked, "We don't like to call him that to his face, it goes to his head."

"Hm." Patrick Jane shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "I don't need to hear it to know my value. I just wanted to make sure you heard it."

"And I did."

"Good." Monteleza saw them try, but fail, at keeping straight faces while they looked at each other.

"Ladies, gentlemen, let's focus." Abbott said. Then, addressing Monteleza, "Where's the rest of your team, and what have eyewitnesses had to say so far?"

"Witnesses were asked to meet with our guys back at the field office. Statements are being taken right now. Local PD who first arrived on scene said no one had any useful information, but we'll see what we get when things are settled down and they're each talked to separately."

"I assume you've already requested store security tapes?" Lisbon asked.

"Yep. According to Marvin himself, there's one outdoor camera above the front entrance that likely caught everything. Said it's low quality, though. We haven't viewed it since no one's going back inside the store until the bomb squad sweeps. We'll be taking it with us back for tech to en... hance..." Monteleza trailed off as Jane wandered away without a word to get closer to the site of the blast. "He just leaves then? Okay."

Lisbon brushed it off. "He does that, don't worry about it. Did you inquire about security footage from any of the adjacent businesses?"

"Not yet, we're still organizing."

"Okay. Well, one of our team took it upon himself to check around. Kimball Cho. He'll get in touch with you if he finds anything." With that, she went to join Jane where he was squatting by the driver's side door of the combusted car, followed closely by Fischer, Abbott, and Bordeaux.

Levi turned and watched them, staying back where he was for a moment. He had been waiting quite a while to see the renowned Patrick Jane in action.

And yet, he found his gaze repeatedly drawn to the petite agent leaning over Patrick Jane's shoulder.

* * *

"Hey, partner." Cho quietly greeted Lisbon as she and Jane joined the large group of fellow agents gathering around Abbott and Monteleza for a briefing at the Austin field office.

"Partner, huh?" He'd never used that before, and Lisbon was momentarily taken aback. But it was true, now, and she was proud to be working alongside him. "You know, I like that." She elbowed him playfully.

Jane made a face. "That's not what you said when I referred to us as partners. In fact, I specifically remember a fleeting look of distaste."

"That look was only about your behavior."

"Still, there were no puffed up shoulders, none of this, 'ooh, I like that' business."

"Oh, shut up." She whispered.

"If I could have everybody's attention," Abbott started, "We have a lot to do on this one, and we don't know if we're under any time constraints." He proceeded to go over the when and where of the explosion for everyone who hadn't visited the scene, noting that no other bombs had yet been found, then passed to Agent Monteleza.

Levi Monteleza provided few new facts, but at least they finally had a name on who owned the car. Rabat Tahir. Twenty-five years old. Unmarried. Recently passed her BAR exams, but was still interning at a prestigious local firm. She was the daughter of a wealthy international businessman who, like his daughter, wasn't believed to have ties to any extremist groups. Parents had already identified the shoes on the disembodied feet as belonging to Rabat, but DNA confirmation wouldn't be in until the following day,

"Lisbon, how about you and I speak to the parents?" Fischer turned around from where she was sitting at the front of the group.

"That's fine," Lisbon agreed. "Who's going to search the girl's home?" When Cho said that he wanted to go with Jane as soon as they took a look at the handful of security tapes they had received, she continued, "Since a warrant's on hold until we get a positive ID, if we can get permission from the parents to go through her things, we'll get that back to you as quickly as possible."

"I'll accompany Lisbon and Fischer to the parents' home, see if anything stands out to me from any past cases." Monteleza announced, his eyes on Lisbon for what she felt was the hundredth time since meeting him that morning. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and looked away. She certainly wouldn't complain about having him along, though. He was an attractive man, especially with his cropped hair splayed every which way like it was, and she recalled seeing his hands run through it repeatedly at Marvin's Grocery.

"Huh." She heard beside her.

"What, 'huh'?" She turned her attention to Jane.

"Just 'huh'. I'll see you later." He looked annoyed, a shift from the playful mood he'd been in all day, but before Lisbon could pursue the issue he left the bullpen, Cho on his heels.

"Ladies, we ready to go?" Monteleza cheerfully asked Lisbon and Fischer.

Lisbon peeled her gaze away from the direction Jane had gone and nodded. "I'll drive."

She ended up driving only for herself and Fischer. Monteleza chose to trail them in his own car, having mumbled something about adults and back seats after Fischer claimed shotgun. The women had rolled their eyes and made playful gibes at him for his pride before they parted ways and hit the road.

Not long into the drive, Fischer leaned over the center console and, despite them being alone in the car, said in a secretive tone, "He's been checking you out."

"What?" Lisbon was surprised, uncomfortable.

"Levi. He was checking you out, today." Fischer sat back in her seat.

Lisbon's mouth fell open and she glanced at the other woman. "He was not." She stretched a bit to glance in the rearview mirror. Monteleza was drumming his fingers on his steering wheel and appeared to be singing animatedly. She bit back a smile.

"Hey, I'm just telling you what I saw. And I can tell you he's a good guy, in case you end up checking him out." Lisbon felt herself blush, and Fischer grinned. "Oh my God."

"Okay, that's enough, we're not kids." Lisbon admonished.

She was grateful when, at that point, she guided her car up to a large wrought iron gate and had to flash her badge at the guard stationed in a security booth. Personal topics would be laid aside, for now. When they finally reached the Tahir residence, a massive structure the color of apricots and surrounded by gardens that seemed callously bright for what had happened to this family, today, no one was thinking about anyone but Rabat. Her parents came to the door, their faces tear-streaked, devastated.

Fischer held up her ID. "Hi." She said gently. "We're Special Agents Kim Fischer, Teresa Lisbon, and Levi Monteleza with the FBI. We're very sorry to bother you during this time, but we need to speak with you about your daughter."

Salim Tahir wrapped one arm around his wife's shoulders and nodded. "Yes, of course. Ahlan. Please, take off your shoes and come in."

* * *

Jane rapped his index finger against Jason Wylie's computer screen. "Right there. Can you make that clearer?" Along with Cho, they had been pouring over footage from Marvin's Grocery's security camera, as well as footage from several other businesses in the same shopping center. They had watched, repeatedly, as Rabat's car pulled into a parking space not particularly near the grocery store's entrance, or any other vehicles. In one video they could see the young woman, long dark hair obscuring most of her face, yank what appeared to be her purse into her lap before a flash of white once again overtakes her car. Nothing in her body language suggested that she knew her death was imminent, but perhaps, Jane considered, she hadn't intended to be in the car when it detonated.

Now, on one particular grainy piece of film, he noticed something moving behind Rabat inside the car.

He has no idea what Wylie does, but soon they're looking at a pixelated close-up of her back seat. Details are beyond perception at such low quality, but one thing is clear: there is definitely movement.

"We need to find out if she had any pets." Cho said.

"That doesn't move like an animal. It's hiding, hunkered down." Jane hunched over in his chair to demonstrate what he meant.

"And it's pretty big," Wylie added. "And white. If it is an animal, it's one of those wolf hybrid things, I bet. Oh," the rookie agent frowned, "It would be dead now. That's really sad."

"Right." Cho, unamused by their antics, pulled out his phone and began typing.

"Tell Lisbon and Fischer I say 'hi'," Jane said, then felt an unpleasant jolt run through him. He had been trying for the last two hours to avoid thinking about how Lisbon and Montezela had regarded one another in the bullpen earlier, but hearing her name on his own lips caused his spirits to dampen. He didn't know what to make of the fact that he'd seen genuine interest in her demeanor as her eyes caught Montezela's, then darted down to his left hand, where his ring finger was bare. Montezela, for his part, was most definitely charmed. Jane twisted his wedding ring and gritted his teeth recalling how, right at the God damned crime scene, the taller man had let his gaze drop to Lisbon's ass. Jane had tried to subtly obscure Monteleza's view by stepping between them. Later, his irritation again rose when Montezela invited himself on Fischer and Lisbon's interview with the parents, while Jane got dragged into this little film school session with Cho and Wylie.

"Lisbon asked the parents, and Rabat doesn't have a 'pretty big wolf hybrid thing', or any pet. So what's in the back of her car?" Cho finally said, pocketing his phone.

"Suspect number two." Wylie answered.

"Or victim." Jane said. "Why would you make assumptions?"

"Um..." Wylie twisted to face his computer screen, pretending to be engrossed in something of importance as he fiddled with the keyboard.

* * *

Rabat Tahir's condo was the picture of wealth. Huge and pristine, and a little whimsical. Victorian furniture was accented with fuzzy neon throw pillows. Marble flooring was dressed with an animal print rug. Everywhere Jane looked, bright pinks and oranges and greens stood out against the tans and whites of conventional wallpaper and furniture. It was... awful. But Jane found himself liking it, liking the person behind the eyesore. Rabat had entwined unpolished idiosyncrasies rebelliously with the refinement expected from a child of great wealth, and he found himself unable to suppress a grin at the spirit she must have possessed.

Jane and Cho, along with two partners from a forensics unit, had been cataloging her belongings since they'd arrived a couple of hours before following Lisbon notifying them of the family's consent. The afternoon had passed into evening, and Jane continued to move slowly, looking for signs of missing objects, recently vacated spots amidst her possessions. He pulled open her cupboards and her refrigerator to see if she'd allowed her food to run out, or if there were copious amounts of newly purchased comfort-type foods. Nothing. No perceptible gaps on her walls or on her shelves, and her cabinets and refrigerator were sparsely but sufficiently stocked with fare that would make a fitness buff swoon. Jane went to the spacious, perky living room to join Cho.

"I don't believe this is the home of a girl expecting to die, or wanting anyone else to die. There's no radical paraphernalia anywhere, even her books are just romances." Cho said as he oversaw the young woman's desktop computer being bagged for evidence by another agent.

"No, it certainly isn't." Jane agreed.

"And there's no obvious note left for loved ones. Tech, of course, will have to check her hard drive."

"Maybe it's not even her in that car." The agent struggling to carry Rabat's plastic-encased computer suggested. Jane wished that were true, that the vibrant woman who would have inhabited this space hadn't had her life taken from her, today.

"Sure looked like her in surveillance videos." Cho waved his hand toward the fireplace mantle where a picture of Rabat, with her long dark hair and wide smile, arms thrown around the neck of a young man, sat beside a collection of unburned jar candles. "Plus, Lisbon reported back that Rabat's parents heard from her place of work. She never showed up, today."

Jane nodded his agreement. "It was Rabat, I don't doubt that. But the FBI is wasting it's time. This isn't terrorism. It's homicide."

"Even if that ends up being the case, it doesn't change how we need to approach this. A car blew up in the middle of a shopping center. Run of the mill homicide is rarely anyone's first thought when that happens."

Of course, Jane inwardly bemoaned, but if it had been, the case would have remained local PD's jurisdiction. And if it would have remained the local PD's jurisdiction, Lisbon wouldn't have spent her afternoon with Counter Terrorism's resident ass man.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

* * *

The bullpen was once again crowded with suits. Everyone who had worked to get the ball rolling on piecing together Rabat Tahir's last moments—forensics, who had collected and began testing samples of ash to confirm identity of the deceased; bomb techs, who were seeking to identify explosive materials, intensity of impact, and the exact location of detonation; Counter Terrorism, who was combing through every document they had to try and uncover any overlooked detail connecting the young woman to an extremist organization; and, of course, field agents, and their asset, who had procured evidence from Rabat's condo, poured over surveillance video, and completed initial interviews with next of kin—had been called together for a briefing to exchange any new information they might have discovered that all players needed to have going forward. As those who had already arrived waited for the rest of their peers to finish turning up, shouts of laughter and overlapping conversation echoed around the sharp, sterile edges that made up Austin's FBI bureau, the sounds reminding Lisbon more of a highschool gym than a government office.

She stood apart from the rest, fidgeting by her desk, glancing between the windows that had become blackened with the fall of night, the reflection of fluorescent lights replacing the limited view of the grounds' courtyard that she enjoyed for people-watching during more reasonable hours, and over to where Levi was intently going over the notes they had made while interviewing the Tahirs. God, she hoped she hadn't come across as a bitch, today.

Following the interview with Rabat's family, Lisbon and Fischer, along with Agent Monteleza, had gone to grab a bite to eat at a nearby dive. Levi had insisted the food was excellent at Corona Grill, but the dark interior—with its time-worn wooden paneling and muted lighting the color of the beer whose scent permeated the air—left Lisbon nauseous. It was an atmosphere reminiscent of Michael Kirkland's cabin, the place where she had come to understand exactly what her colleagues had experienced in their last moments, and where she herself had fully expected to die. Lisbon had swallowed a few tasteless bites of carne asada, then had to set down her fork and force herself to concentrate on her present dinner companions rather than the familiar ache welling up inside for her fallen friends. _You're fine, Teresa. You're fine._ But for the most part, she had let the other two keep up the conversation, faking a smile or a laugh where appropriate.

Under different circumstances, she thought she genuinely would have enjoyed their company. Through the course of the meal it had been discovered that Levi was originally from the Midwest like her, and they rooted for rival football teams. Kim Fischer made no secret of her amusement over the banter and smack talk that followed, and every so often, when Monteleza would glance down at his plate, Fischer would catch Lisbon's eye and waggle her eyebrows, smirking. Lisbon would mouth, 'hush', and punctuate it with a glare. Thankfully, the group hadn't been able to hang around for long. Lisbon was glad to get out of there in under half an hour, away from the ghosts brought forth by those walls, and away from Fischer's apparent interest in matchmaking.

"You okay?" Lisbon started at the sound of Jane's voice. She straightened and turned around to see him looking at her expectantly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You tell me, Lisbon. You're the one who's all tensed up with that little crease in your brow."

"I do not have a crease in my brow. Little or otherwise."

"You do, too." He pointed between his own eyebrows. "Right here. It's charming. Now tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong." She paused, then reconsidered her answer. She let out a rush of breath and folded her arms. "We grabbed dinner at a little bar that reminded me of that cabin, of those days with Kirkland."

"'_We_' grabbed dinner? You and Fischer?" _Now who has the crease in their brow_?

"And Levi."

"Oh, _Levi_? Yes, of course." He muttered.

"Did you want to be invited?" She felt herself getting annoyed that the topic of food was what he took from her admission to him.

He shook his head. "I grabbed sandwiches with Cho." Then, softening his tone, Jane added, "I'm sorry you had to deal with such a sensory reminder, Lisbon. If you need to talk, I'm—I'm here, Lisbon." She looked down, and he dipped his head to try and catch her gaze again. "You sure you're okay?"

She nodded and offered him a tight smile, not the least bit surprised when he narrowed his eyes at her, clearly unconvinced.

"If I can have everyone's attention please," Monteleza began from where he stood in front of the windows, "I want to see where we all are on this Rabat Tahir investigation. What do we know now that we didn't earlier?"

"Her apartment didn't tell us anything of significance, but we're still going through her computers." Cho said.

"Alright, clean apartment. Got it. Anyone else?"

"On one of the surveillance tapes, we see movement in the back seat of Rabat's car." Cho answered again.

Lisbon raised her _un-creased_ brow. "That's why you asked about the pet," she said. Cho nodded, so she continued, "And since she doesn't have one… are you thinking a second person?"

Cho shrugged. "We can't see well enough. If it is a person, they appear to be laying down between the back and front seats."

"Hopefully tests on the ash will tell us more." Monteleza bit his lip, looking lost in thought for a moment. "No one else? No surprise extra body parts found anywhere? No..?" The bullpen was quiet. "Okay, figured it was a little early. There wasn't much to bring back from Mom and Dad, either, except they noticed no signs of depression or unusual activities. No new weird friends. We now know Rabat was engaged, though, to an Aaron Waters. But background says this guy's vanilla as shit, so no terror affiliations there."

"The parents have no known connections, Rabat has no known connections. The explosion affected virtually nothing. We need to start considering this girl as a victim and start exploring her life from that angle." Lisbon said. "We need to look at this boyfriend as a suspect when we talk to him, not just as another window into Rabat's life." Out of the corner of her eye, Lisbon noticed Jane look at Jason Wylie and jerk his head toward her as if to say, _see?_ Lisbon felt a little start of pride that they must have come to the same conclusion about the girl.

"I agree with Lisbon." Jane voiced. "Someone who has time to make or acquire a bomb has time to consider their actions, say their goodbyes, give away items of sentimental value for survivors to hang on to. Rabat's condo showed no signs of preparing to never come back. To not put significant weight on murder would be an injustice to the girl. Bigoted, really." And Lisbon's pride quickly turned to chagrin.

"Bigoted? Okay, well," Monteleza clapped his hands together, "Whoever can go home and get sleep should. I want to see you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow morning." Levi seemed reluctant to send any agents home, but they all knew options were limited for some while they waited for lab results. "Jane, Lisbon—for now, you two are with me. Aaron's getting some late visitors."

* * *

How many twenty-seven year old newbie lawyers could afford an estate like this? Monteleza wondered as his car crunched and shuddered up the long gravel driveway. Trees tightly lined both sides of the path, creating a dark tunnel capped with the night sky. But in view, not far ahead, was a palatial estate illuminated by what he hoped to God were fake candles in each of the vast number of windows. The brick structure reminded him of an old government building between the giant white pillars by the front door and a lawn that could pass as a golf course. He pulled his car up right in front of the towering mansion, surprised there had been no gate to be buzzed through.

"I hope there's a bell on this thing, because knocking would be the equivalent of just tapping my front door with your fingernail." Monteleza said as he, Teresa Lisbon, and Patrick Jane stepped up on the concrete veranda. Lisbon smiled, but Jane gave him a long-suffering look and reached out to press a button to the left of the door.

An older gentleman with salt and pepper hair answered, dressed in a three-piece suit that reminded Monteleza of something he saw Patrick Jane wearing in photos a couple of years ago when the man was all over the news. "May I help you?"

"We're special agents with the FBI. We're looking to speak with Aaron Waters." Monteleza held up his badge.

Aaron's butler opened the door wider and stepped aside for them to file into a foyer that could have swallowed an entire level of Levi's home. "About Miss Tahir, I presume. Find yourselves a seat, I'll go retrieve Mr. Waters for you." With that, the man closed the door and trotted up a wide staircase that wound down into the foyer.

"Good dog," Levi overheard Jane say under his breath.

None of them sat as they waited for Aaron to make his appearance. Instead, they each went around the drawing room they found themselves in when they'd kept walking straight from the foyer, taking in the paintings and small statues that adorned the fireplace mantle and various tables. Monteleza felt like he had walked into someone's aorta. The woodwork was rosewood, the furniture was red velvet and crimson silk. Even the wallpaper was a deep shade of red, the little ornate designs on it looking more like platelets running up and down the walls than the flowers he was pretty sure they were meant to be.

"FBI?" They heard from the doorway. Levi turned around to see a much younger man with light brown hair groomed to one side, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt.

He held up his badge again. "I'm Agent Monteleza, with me is Agent Lisbon and... a, uh...," How the hell do they introduce Jane in the field? "...a, um, a Patrick Jane. Aaron Waters?" The young man nodded.

"Aaron," Lisbon said, "We would like to talk to you about your fiancée, who we believe died this morning in an explosion."

"Yeah. No one's heard from her, and it was her car, so..." Aaron waved his hand, trying to find the right words. This kid was a lawyer?

"Well," Lisbon continued, "We're looking to find out exactly what happened. What can you tell us about her, Aaron?"

Aaron shrugged, brown eyes downcast. "She was a good girl. The media is saying terrorism, but there's no way. She was... a good girl, so..." Monteleza could just imagine what Rabat's gravestone would read had she married this gift to language. _She was a good girl. But she's dead, so..._ The rest of the interview with Aaron didn't go much smoother, and he proved to have information as enlightening as the Tahirs'. Tomorrow they would have DNA results, which would make it possible to get a warrant to go through Rabat's phone records. Maybe then they would find someone who would have more to say about the young woman than just waxing on about her fantastic character.

As soon as they hit the porch and the colossal front door had swung shut behind them, Jane said, "A good girl? That's a strange turn of phrase for your fiancée. Past tense, cold as ice…"

"You think this guy's a suspect?" Monteleza asked him before they climbed into the car.

"I find it hard to believe he could work up the emotion to poke someone, actually. Must be a real firecracker in the courtroom."

"There's something strange about being _that _composed twelve hours after losing someone you wanted to spend forever with." Lisbon said.

"Of course there's something strange about it," Jane answered, "But I still doubt he has it in him to rig a bomb to blow up his girlfriend's car."

Lisbon countered, "He could have hired somebody."

"Well, that's a very real possibility." Jane allowed.

"You had to have noticed, out of all the pictures that we saw, not one had Rabat."

"Ehh. She had a photo of him in her condo. Both of them together and they looked happy enough. We don't know what was in any of the other rooms, here."

Monteleza's eyes darted between the two as they stood toe to toe, bickering over the case. Patrick Jane leaned over his diminutive partner, and Teresa, for her part, had her hands plunked on her hips, indignation flaring in her wide eyes as she stuck her nose up at Jane, not about to back down. Monteleza couldn't decide which he felt more as he watched the exchange: amusement over the constant squabbling he'd witnessed between them, or disappointment that maybe Teresa Lisbon wasn't as free as Fischer had said.

He had cornered Kim earlier in the day as she'd made coffee for herself in the break room, asked her whether these two were involved. She had looked like a deer caught in the headlights before shaking her head 'no', and walking away. As he stood here, now, uncomfortably feeling like a third wheel, he was beginning to have doubts about how much Kim actually knew, or how much she might have been unwilling to tell him. Teresa certainly hadn't been this animated at lunch. His gaze pulled to her again, hopes plummeting at the way she allowed Jane to invade her personal space, their bodies leaving as little space for another as their heated conversation.

Monteleza was trying to figure out something worth saying when his cellphone chimed, silencing everyone. He fished it out of his pocket and glanced at the text on his screen. "My partner has summoned us back to the office," he gruffly told Jane and Lisbon, aggravated by the way they were blinking at him as if he'd just materialized out of nowhere.

* * *

"We have something, Lee." Grayson Bordeaux, who Jane couldn't remember seeing since the Pearlville shopping strip parking lot, strode over to them the moment they stepped off the elevator on the fourth floor of the Austin Bureau. "It's not much. Or the type of terrorism we were initially thinking, but at least now we're not bigots." He shot a pointed look at Jane. Ah, he must have just missed the guy at the briefing earlier.

"Hey, I knew we had it in us." Monteleza turned to Jane with his hand raised for a high-five.

"Oh, I like this guy, he's been very funny." Jane said to Lisbon without removing either of his own hands from his pockets. She refused to look at him, obviously not interested in whatever was going on between the two men.

Monteleza dropped his arm. "So what did you find?" He asked Bordeaux.

Bordeaux squinted at Jane and hesitated before answering, "A, uh...a secretary at the law firm where Tahir interns is an active member of the animal rights group, FNF, or Freedom Not Food. They have a lengthy history of using violent means to get their point across, including using explosives in and around stores selling animal products."

"And you think, what? This secretary's bleeding heart bled right over to Rabat, who blew herself up at least fifty feet from any meat hoping we'd all get the message?" Jane challenged. "Anyone else suddenly craving tofurkey?"

"Look, it's been half a day. It's the best we've got. Miss Corinna Andrews has herself an arrest record for assault and unlawful assembly with this group. She works for the same lawyer as our girl, here. That's all I can say. We need to talk to her." Bordeaux shrugged, a little deflated, apparently having expected only validation from discovering this 'connection'.

Monteleza looked at his watch. "You know what? Everyone can go get some sleep, relax, whatever. We'll track down Corinna first thing tomorrow."

"Good," Bordeaux said, and, with one more squinty look at Jane, headed toward the elevators.

"You, too." Monteleza tried to shoo Jane and Lisbon. Then, pointedly to Lisbon, said, "Um, Teresa. Have a good night." Jane willed himself to stay calm as she warmly wished the other man a good night in return, and the two stared at each other with goofy looks on their faces for a moment before Monteleza finally turned and disappeared into the bullpen.

"Hey, I was honest with you when you asked me if something was wrong, now I'm asking you to be honest with me. What's going on with you, today? Why the up and down?" Lisbon demanded after they were alone.

Jane sighed. What the hell could he say?_ Well, _Teresa,_ the way that guy keeps looking at you makes me want to deck him. But the fact that you look right back..._ "I've been having an off day."

She looked incredulous. "That's all you're going to say?"

He reached into his pocket and held out his keys to her. "Don't go all the way back to Georgetown at this hour. Sleep in the trailer. I'll take the couch." Her eyes widened. "The one in here." Jane clarified.

She ignored his keys, "Jane, talk to me."

"See you in the morning." He took her hand and pressed his keys to the Airstream into her palm, then turned on his heel and left to seek the comfort of his couch in the bullpen. She didn't follow him. He looked around for Monteleza, but the space was deserted. He wondered where the asshole had ended up going, because his office wasn't on this floor.

Jane dropped gracelessly onto his leather couch and put his face in his hands. This God damned day had certainly given him more to think about than he'd been prepared for.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

* * *

He had stared at Lisbon's reflection this evening in the windows, watched the way she kept stealing glances at Levi, biting her lip, tucking back her hair. And he knew he really couldn't keep denying it. Lisbon was ready to let her life move forward—not necessarily with Levi, but, eventually, with someone—and Jane no longer factored in to how she saw her future. She had warned him on their first case together with the FBI that she was no longer interested in holding her life hostage to his whims. Still, he had let months pass, complacent with the belief he'd have time to figure out how to give away the parts of himself that had only ever belonged to Angela. He'd have time to re-earn Lisbon's trust. And, one day, they would move forward. Together. He hadn't considered anything else, because whenever he'd lain in his bed in that bedraggled village shack where he'd spent his nights thinking about her, he had only pictured in his mind the way she used to look at _him_.

For so long, he hadn't wanted her, or anyone, to love him. He was going to leave. The man who killed his wife and child deserved a wretched, undignified demise, and Jane would be the one to ensure it—death, the penitentiary, or a life in exile be damned. He hadn't been blind to the way Lisbon's feelings for him had gradually transformed alongside his for her from admiration, to genuine friendship, to devotion. But to encourage her loyalties to him beyond their professional interests would have been selfish, and she was the one living person in his life that he was determined to do right by in the end. If she ended up hating him, so be it. That's what he told himself every time he saw hurt flash across her face that he alone was responsible for causing. Hating doesn't gut you like loving and losing._ You know as well as I do__, Lisbon_.

But the deep down truth also was, there had never been a real threat. He'd never feared having to share her. Lisbon and emotional intimacy? _Nah_. She had walls so high he had once imagined he would find Red John before she regarded him with anything more than distrust and exasperation. Her friendship was hard-earned. They went back and forth for years, struggled for dominance in their relationship. But ultimately, he believed, they had changed each other for the better, reached those broken pieces neither one had thought could ever be restored. They forged a bond he hadn't anticipated having with another human being after losing Angela. It was a bond he had taken for granted in California, longed for in Venezuela, and thought would be easily recovered in Texas.

But after he had reentered Lisbon's life, he was left out of sorts and floundering when he realized that she wasn't looking at him the way she had before their two-year separation. For whatever reason, she wasn't the same woman he'd known in Sacramento who was content with a static life consumed by the pursuit of justice, the need to save everyone who reminded her of that little girl in Chicago who'd desperately needed a savior. There was a restlessness in her. She wanted him in her life, he didn't doubt that, but he was no longer confident of his place in it. But what really scared him shitless was that an answering urgency was mushrooming up in him, an awareness that time in his newly-acquired comfortable world might be limited. Yet, to actually go ahead and change things with her… He looked at his ring and flopped back on the couch, closing his eyes. It would permanently change the dynamics of the two most important relationships of his life. _I wish you'd be patient, Lisbon._

Charlotte and Angela may have left the world years ago, but they hadn't left him. He hadn't let them. Inwardly, he still looked up in the sky and would point out a soaring bird to Charlotte, or explain the contrails of a passing jet. He'd hear her peals of laughter, and her calls for him to come and play. And Angela... his mind would play her gentle chiding when he or Charlotte had a bit of cheek. Her sing-song voice calling their little family for dinner. Her affectionate pleas to come home, _please, enough with the act. You don't have to be the boy wonder, anymore. We're free…_ He still argued with her, was pestered by her wisdom. He'd never truly let his family go. He could simply slip away to a place of solitude, close his eyes, and be home for a while. To create a home with someone else, in order to give it a fair shot, he'd have to silence that inner part of himself he'd lived with for over a decade. _I've gotten them justice. Just give me a little more time for goodbyes, Lisbon. I'm getting there._

When Michael Kirkland had struck, fixating on Lisbon's well-being became a welcome excuse to ignore the way the weight of his ring had begun to feel more noticeable on his finger, and the way solitude had started bringing him Lisbon's voice more often than not, with Angela's becoming a faded, warm memory. But as Lisbon gradually returned to a woman who didn't need him to cajole her into leaving her house, a woman whose smile—every so often—actually reached her eyes, Jane found himself once again thinking about a relationship that would risk everything they were to each other, and he'd pulled back before he did something stupid. Neither one of them were ready. Not yet. They were two people practiced at standing still, because when you stay still, maybe you won't lose someone else, and, subsequently, more of your already bruised and tattered self. Not standing still was a terrifying concept to them both, and Lisbon didn't need terrifying while she regained her footing. He had a little more time to sort out his past once and for all, because she needed easy, right now. Safe.

He thought.

Jane heard someone clear their throat and lifted an eyelid. Monteleza stood in front of him, a teacup in one hand, a paper cup in the other. He set the teacup down on the couch cushion next to Jane. "Rumor has it you even negotiate for your freedom over this stuff." He said, then took a sip from the paper cup before adding, "I don't know what's up with you, man, but I'd really appreciate it if you could have a better attitude by tomorrow." Without waiting for an answer, he left toward the elevators.

Jane glowered sideways at the tea. He couldn't ask Lisbon to share him with his past, she deserved so much more than that. But the prospect of having to share her with anyone... he flinched from the wave of pain that shot up from his stomach.

Oh, he was going to sleep great, tonight.

* * *

Lisbon had accepted Jane's offer to spend the night in his trailer, but hadn't truly appreciated the convenience until her phone woke her up at 6:00 am. Everyone working the Tahir case was wanted for a briefing in one hour. Being in Jane's Airstream parked within spitting distance of the Austin field office would give her much-needed time to freshen up and even savor a hot drink before sneaking off to grab a quick shower in the bureau's gym locker room.

And she really did need that time, the way her back was aching. She'd slept on the miniscule sofa running the length of wall between kitchenette and driver's seat, unable to stretch her legs out enough to rest comfortably. But Lisbon hadn't been willing to crawl into the full-sized bed with its tangled sheets at the back of the trailer. No way. Wasn't gonna happen. She was trying to move on from certain thoughts she used to let herself entertain about Patrick Jane, and lying in his bed all night would not have helped.

As it was, her heart ached in this mobile home. The only signs of settling in she could see were the placement of a photo of Angela and Charlotte on the counter, and a lumpy, lopsided clay ashtray beside it that Lisbon assumed Charlotte's little hands had made. They were pieces that had been among three sizable boxes worth of items she'd managed to save for Jane before the FBI tore through his Malibu home in the aftermath of McCallister's murder. The rest of the miscellany items she'd collected were still in their boxes squeezed next to his bed. Even books he'd acquired since his return to the States sat lined up in a cardboard box under his dinette. He'd moved into this thing in February, and he still hadn't made it into anything more than a place to exist. As she put her empty mug into the sink, Lisbon wondered whether he was leaving himself poised to run, or if the lack of unpacking was nothing more than Jane's irreverence for his living space. To even think… if he left again—a shiver ran through her and she was tempted to pick up the damned mug again so she could smash it.

Lisbon, more than ready to depart Jane's strange tomb, slung her overnight bag and purse over her shoulder and was just reaching for the door handle when a knock sounded. "Jesus!" She waited for her heart to slow.

"Just me, Teresa. But I'm flattered."

She whipped open the door. "Jane?"

"Good, you're decent." He lobbed up the trailer's wobbly fold-out step and pushed past her.

_What the hell?_ "We have half an hour to be at a briefing." She called to him as he draped himself across his bed.

"Meh. You go ahead. Fill me in." He said, his voice muffled against the mattress.

"Ready to tell me why you've been so moody?" She asked his upturned ass.

Jane rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow. She could see his tongue pushing against his cheek while he regarded her. She sat down next to him and lifted her eyebrows. _Well?_

"I already told you. I was just having an off day. But you needn't worry, today I'm having an 'on' day."

"Yeah, you look like it." She ran her eyes over his disheveled, reposed form. He shrugged one shoulder.

"You didn't sleep here," he looked down at the bed, and she could have sworn he gave a little sniff.

"Nope."

"Hm." Silence fell between them for a few moments, but she wished he would keep talking to her. Sitting with Jane alone in this trailer reminded her of the numerous evenings they had spent in her home before she'd returned to work, and she felt acutely now how much she'd been missing him these last few months he hadn't been stopping by.

"Why a trailer?" She asked. "An Airstream trailer? Specifically?"

He smiled broadly, looking downright giddy. "Reminds you of Pete's and Samantha's, doesn't it? I grew up in one of these. When you live the carny life, this is where everything important happens. You master your skill, come up with new ideas… It's the only constant in your whole perpetually changing world."

"A while ago you said something about moving forward, and now you want to live in your childhood home? The one you 'escaped'?"

"Ah," He waved his hand in the air as if to swat away her words. "You know, for a long time I thought that you couldn't move forward without completely getting rid of the past. But… I don't know. Perhaps that's not true. Perhaps-perhaps you can take the best parts with you. Just keep adding together all the good," he jumbled his hands together as a visual for her, "And getting rid of all the negative. Imagine what you could end up with."

"An old motorhome?" She pursed her lips against a teasing smile.

"The best part of my childhood, Lisbon." He responded with exaggerated patience. "It's a home and the excitement of endless possibility all rolled into one. It makes me happy. Why deprive myself? And now with you here, the best part of—" He stopped himself. Lisbon raised her eyebrows again, daring him to finish. "The best part of my life, today… I-I have two really good things in my life at the same time. Are you seeing how this works?" His voice had become rough and he wouldn't meet her eyes as he concluded. She grinned at him, anyway.

"Jane—"

"Look, Lisbon, I need a chance to think, and there were already far too many people milling about the office." He collapsed face down again. "I'll be in, today. I will."

He was always going to shut her out. _One step forward, two steps back._ Wasn't that supposed to play the other way around? She shook her head slowly. "Right." She said under her breath, then stood abruptly and grabbed her bags.

"Whoa… wait, Lisbon…" She heard him right behind her as she reached the door for the second time that morning.

"I, for one, want to be on time, and I still need a shower. I hope you do find the time to join us at some point today, preferably in time to talk to Corinna." She tossed over her shoulder as she stalked to her car.

* * *

"You guys are idiots." Corinna Andrews stated, though the expression on her face had already said it well enough. "This could have been an easy phone call that saved us all time."

Jane grinned, and said through a chuckle, "Rabat ate meat."

"Rabat ate meat." Corinna confirmed.

"Well, we idiots are here for more than that. Seeing as you two were the ones in charge of grunt work for the same lawyer, we were hoping you were close enough with her that you could give us a little insight into anything that might have led to her death yesterday." Monteleza said, leaning back and crossing his legs.

"Do I look broken up to you?" Corinna snapped from where she sat across from Monteleza and Jane, slouched so low only her shoulders and head, face curtained by blond hair, were visible over the table in her employer's meeting room.

_Yes, we know, you don't want to be here._ Jane rolled his eyes. "You're miserable, actually. You didn't want to like her, you fancy yourself morally her superior because, socially, she was yours. But she kept you company well enough, didn't she? It's going to be lonely here without her."

Corinna pouted and glared at her reflection in the polished wooden table. "If you want to talk to someone, I'd talk to her fiancé, Aaron-something. She kept thinking lately that he wanted back with the ex, which would kill her chances at getting a 'real' job in his daddy's firm. Maybe she was right and he got rid of her."

Jane offered the young woman a genuine smile when she briefly looked up at him, unshed tears in her harrowed brown eyes. "Thank you, Corinna. That's very helpful."

"So it seems Lisbon was onto something, eh?" Monteleza said after the two men had finished their conversation with Corinna and walked through the lobby of Kellon and Smith Law Offices.

"It wasn't the boyfriend." Jane answered.

Monteleza stopped. "You're so sure."

Jane didn't. "I'm so sure." He hopped onto the platform of the automatic revolving doors that served as the law firm's exit.

Monteleza joined him in a different section, and immediately stepped off outside of the building where Jane heard him say, "Rabat doesn't leave much of a presence in his home, the co-worker said she was worried about an ex—What-what are you doing?"

"I love these things. Don't you love these things?" He let the door take him around several times, catching glimpses of Monteleza staring at him as though he'd sprung a second head.

"I don't love them on taxpayers' dime." Jane ignored the other man and continued to ride his ambling merry-go-round. "Well, okay, then," Monteleza started as Jane once again rotated past him, "Since apparently we have time, I was wondering if I could ask you something about Agent Lisbon."

Jane finally used the door for its purpose and went straight for Monteleza's SUV without acknowledging him. Couldn't this guy give him one minute of fun? He'd been on his best behavior all day, hadn't even balked when it was suggested he accompany Monteleza alone to speak with Corinna Andrews, and had tolerated the man's bad jokes and small talk the entire drive out to Pearlville without comment.

Monteleza easily met Jane's stride. "Was that the answer I was looking for?"

"No. Agent Lisbon and I are not romantically involved. That's the answer you're looking for."

"C'mon, man," Jane allowed himself to be stopped when he felt Monteleza grab his elbow. "Is she a touchy subject for you? I'm not looking to step on any toes…" Monteleza folded his arms, and Jane thought it was interesting that the agent found him intimidating.

"Believe it or not, Agent Lisbon is capable of making her own decisions. So if she were or were not involved with anyone, she has the verbal ability to tell you herself. I've witnessed it with my own ears. Very impressive vocabulary, that one." He continued toward the car when Monteleza averted his gaze, suitably chastened by the exchange.

* * *

Female. That's all the DNA test could confirm. In the back seat of Rabat Tahir's car was a second woman.

Lisbon read and re-read the memo that had arrived from the lab moments ago, swiveling back and forth absently in her chair. She had no idea what to do with this information. Had the woman been tied up? Were there two victims? A murder-suicide? God, this was Jane in case form. One step forward, two steps back…

"Teresa?" She was pulled out of her thoughts by Levi, who squatted down next to her desk in order to whisper, "Um… I was wondering if you'd like to grab lunch. Just us."

* * *

**AN**—When I write, I first flesh out my thoughts in my native language, then post chapters as I polish them in English. So while this is, in terms of the story itself, a completed fic that will be posted in its entirety soon enough, due to bad weather my electricity has been sporadic, and since it's only getting worse there may be a significant delay between posting this chapter and the next. Sorry in advance and thank you to everyone who's been following this venture!


	8. Chapter 8

**AN-**Thank you to those who posted such kind reviews on the last chapter.

* * *

Chapter Eight

* * *

It was mercifully bright and open, the café where they shared leisurely conversation and cold deli sandwiches. The swirling scents of coffee and yeast curled pleasantly up her nose, and her smile came without reserve, as did his. They were on par with corny jokes, and Lisbon found the twinkle of humor in his eyes—eyes which, even in the sunlight coming through the window that dwarfed their table, she noted were a few shades of blue darker than Jane's—infectious. Obviously to have asked her here he wasn't holding her moroseness over their dinner with Fischer against her, but still, as they chatted amiably, she hoped she was redeeming herself.

"Saint Teresa? Wow, didn't know I was in the company of a hotshot. I'll be sure to get the tab." Levi teased around a mouthful of food.

"Ugh. Alright, that's the last one you're getting out of me. You're turn. Give." Lisbon was bewildered when his face clouded over. He licked his lips and shifted in his booth, his gaze leaving her for the first time since they'd arrived. "Oh, I'm sorry, if that's—"

"No, I—I made it into the papers for the wrong reason. I got a bunch of guys, um… mistakes are really big when you're talking explosives, you know?" He looked up at her, misery replacing the glint that had played behind his inky lashes moments ago. Lisbon's mouth bobbed open and shut as she grappled for words, imagining what he was unable to say, wanting to spill out, _Whatever you did, I get it. I've screwed up, too, with unthinkable consequence_... "Hey. I don't want to be depressing. We'll have plenty of time to talk about the shitty things, right?" Levi gave a shaky laugh.

She furrowed her eyebrows, then promptly relaxed her expression when she remembered Jane calling her out on having a wrinkle there, yesterday. _Screw you. My brow is not creased._ "Uh… plenty of time?"

"Yeah. I think this went pretty well, don't you? Why not try a schmancy dinner or something when this Rabat Tahir thing is finished up?" Levi asked, the light in his eyes returning.

The need to flee and give herself a chance to think prodded at her, but Lisbon made every effort to sound positive when she responded, "I'll tell you what. Let's just play it by ear." His face fell, so she further explained, "We still have a lot to go through, especially with this second victim…"

"Sure. Maybe we can cram in a few more lunches, wind up tired of each other by the end of this, anyway." He tried to joke, but his smile was more of a wince. _God, this got weird fast. _She wished she could turn back the clock five minutes and recover the levity they had shared for the majority of their meal.

"Either of you want dessert?" The woman working the counter called over to them. They looked at each other, still struggling to find the ease that had dissipated moments ago, when Levi's face suddenly split into a grin.

"I really want some of that pie." He admitted after Lisbon couldn't hold back a smile of her own.

"They did look good." She leaned across the table and whispered conspiratorially, "Why don't we take a whole bunch of 'em back with us for everybody?"

They didn't waste any time in making their purchase and leaving their uncomfortable exchange behind them, along with a generous tip to the woman who'd nearly squealed with glee over the sale of her whole inventory. Back at the office, the task force working Rabat Tahir's case wasted no time, themselves, in tearing into the assortment of pies presented to them, grateful for a departure from packaged vending machine fare.

Making her way to her desk, Lisbon was surprised to find Jane already sound asleep on his couch. She had assumed he'd napped in his trailer this morning when three hours passed between the last time she saw him and when he meandered into the bullpen, but here he was, out cold.

Why wouldn't he just tell her what was going on with him? He went to such great lengths to keep her near, dragged her all the way out to Texas, only to push her away time and again the same way he did when he'd had the hunt for a killer as his reason. Sometimes, it took a lot effort on her part not to feel used, and she had to force herself to think about the times he had, in fact, conceded to her when she'd made demands of him. He respected her, he wanted her friendship—she believed that, she did—and yet still, the way he wanted her within arm's reach just to keep her at arm's length... it grated on her.

She carefully set the blueberry muffin she'd picked up for him at the café on his chest, just below his chin, then pinched his nostrils shut. His hand shot up and snatched her fingers away from his nose. "Hey, sleepyhead." Lisbon said softly, not pulling away from his grip.

He wrinkled his nose and released her hand to rub his face. "How was lunch?" He asked through his palms.

"Not bad."

"This for me?" He asked, taking notice of the muffin that tapped at his chin, wobbling from his motions.

"That would be a strange place to put it for anyone else."

"Thank you." He sat up and began to peel the fluted paper from his treat, then paused before finishing, his expression thoughtful. "You realize, Lisbon, that if things get serious between you two, you'll end up sounding like a witch's spell. Teresa Monteleza, poof!" He swirled an invisible wand in the air and beamed at her, pleased with himself.

Amusement tugged at her lips. "Oh, please. Finish your breakfast, or lunch, or whatever this is for you. We're going to see Aaron Waters again, soon."

"Tea?" Jane stuffed a chunk of muffin into his mouth and looked around.

Her eyes tipped to the ceiling. "I'll go get you tea. Then you're getting your ass moving."

* * *

"I wasn't going to leave her. Do you know what my—" Aaron Waters trailed off, his hands rubbing nervously together while his knee bounced. Finally, some emotion out of this kid. Too bad for the poor girl who deserved to be missed that the emotion Jane witnessed was frustration tinged with a bit of fear. He, along with Lisbon and Monteleza, were once again in the sitting room of Aaron's mansion. The lack of windows in this central parlor made Jane envious for the chance to pick up a book, here, to hide away in the shadows and get lost in thought for awhile. Certainly he'd appreciate the regal space more than the t-shirt and jean-clad young man sitting in the velvet wing chair adjacent to him.

"What? Didn't you have a choice in whether you married Rabat?" Monteleza asked, mirroring Aaron's posture by leaning forward and folding his hands between his knees.

"I—no, it's just… everyone liked Rabat. More than Emily, that's for sure."

"Who's everyone, Aaron?" Lisbon questioned.

"Just everyone."

"Parents, friends of your parents, your entire social circle… everyone whose opinion matters most to you." Jane filled in for him, not bothering to hide his distaste for a world that discarded people based on caste.

Aaron didn't argue. "Our parents are good friends. Rabat's father is one of my dad's top clients."

"And what about Emily's parents?" Lisbon asked him.

Aaron chuckled. "Her mom used to run the family's dying little locksmithery, definitely couldn't hire Dad. Emily and I only met when she started at my high school on a scholarship." A tender look stole across his face and his pupils, already dilated from the dim lighting, widened even further. In a faraway voice he added, "Boy, did my folks flip when I brought her home in 10th."

"Oh, see that?" Jane said wistfully, turning to his colleagues and pointing at Aaron, "It's the look of love. Very sweet." Directing himself to Aaron, again, he continued, "Funny how it was missing yesterday. Are you sure Emily wasn't a threat to Rabat?"

"Excuse me? Emily would never—"

"Not that kind of threat, Aaron." Lisbon intercepted.

"Oh, to the marriage. No." He swallowed hard, the bouncing of his leg picking up pace. "No. I was going to marry Rabat, and I had no contact with Emily. I burned my bridges, there."

"But clearly you regret that, and Rabat knew it. Did she try to approach Emily, have any encounters with her over you?" Jane leaned toward him.

Aaron scoffed. "I don't think Rabat would have cared what I did as long as it wouldn't come back to bite her in the ass. Rabat was invested in me the same way I was in her."

"And what way was that?" Monteleza asked.

"Invested in the truest sense of the word." Jane quipped.

"It wasn't just a money thing. We were a full-on, normal couple. It was my home she left yesterday morning," Aaron dropped his gaze, prudishly embarrassed by what he'd just confided. "Look, we made sense. We come from the same world. Emily never would have caught a break with me. She was the 'gold digger', the 'money-grubbing whore' to every God damned person in my life." His voice, which had gotten higher in both octave and volume, dropped to barely a whisper when he added, "It wasn't fair to her."

"And your parents would have cut you off if you were to marry a gold digger, right Aaron?" Monteleza probed.

Aaron looked confused. "My parents? They were embarrassed when Emily and I were together, but I don't think they would have gone that far."

Jane marveled at the difference in Aaron Waters from yesterday as their interview progressed. One mention of Emily and the emotions came unbridled. He was an open book this meeting. Unfortunately, he still didn't give them much to go on. On the return trip to the bureau—a quick detour to Emily's home proving fruitless when there was no answer at the door—Lisbon twisted in her seatbelt to tell Jane, "You're right. I don't like him for this."

"Good," Jane said as he squirmed around the back seat of Monteleza's SUV, struggling to find room for his knees.

"Hey, hold on." Monteleza contested from behind the steering wheel, "He was marrying the girl for Mommy and Daddy. Forget the 'not fair to Emily' bullshit, we all know who bought that big house. Aaron's a lawyer, he'd know better than to implicate himself by admitting his fancy lifestyle was threatened if he didn't marry Rabat."

Lisbon shook her head. "No, he seems completely drained, to me. I agree with Jane that he probably doesn't have it in him to plot and carry out a murder."

"But getting rid of Rabat would solve everything he found so draining, wouldn't it? Kill her and boom! Avoid the match, keep the gold." Monteleza's gaze spent an unnerving amount of time focused on his front passenger.

"Eyes on the road when the car's moving, please. And why 'boom', exactly? Where does a twenty-seven year old straight-laced lawyer come up with the idea to blow up his girlfriend, let alone come up with the explosives to do it?" Jane argued.

"Well that's why we're investigating, isn't it? We got our DNA match to Rabat, I've asked Fischer to get her hands on a warrant to comb through this guy's house." Monteleza said.

Jane let out an impatient noise. "Aaron wouldn't have killed Rabat. He would have been happy to leave her, no love lost. But he was resigned to the match having left Emily for Emily's sake."

"Left her for her own sake? Who said that?"

"Oh, uh, that-that would me who said that." Jane leaned between the front seats to squint at Monteleza. "Why? Tell me, Levi, have you been having trouble hearing other voices?" Monteleza slanted his eyes at him, and Jane watched the muscle in the other man's jaw twitch as he ground his teeth.

"Enough, Jane." Lisbon said flatly.

"I was kidding." He tried to sooth, turning to her. "I was kidding." She gave him a longsuffering look that implored him to not ruffle any feathers. He mouthed 'poof!' and offered her a grin as peace offering, hoping it didn't look as dejected as he felt. He then settled back for the remainder of their drive, which passed without another word from anyone.

* * *

It was dynamite. As in, 'Looney Tunes'-style dynamite. Dynamite is what detonated in Rabat's car. Lisbon poured herself a cup of coffee and bent over the counter in the FBI break room to rest on her elbows and sip her caffeine fix. Who the hell uses _dynamite_?

"Who the hell uses dynamite?" Fischer voiced Lisbon's thoughts, emptying the rest of the coffee pot into a cup.

Lisbon looked over at her colleague and shook her head. "Guess we'll know more when we find out how easy it is to get your hands on dynamite."

"Levi wanted me to pass on that Emily McCrey made an appointment to come by the Bureau in less than an hour. And speaking of Levi, I wanted to ask you, how did lunch go?"

"I didn't scare him off, yet," Lisbon drolled. "He wants an actual date once this case wraps up. Or dies down. However hard it ends up being to catch your Wile E. Coyotes of the world."

"Ooh, and did you accept this date?" Kim looked genuinely excited for her.

Lisbon scrunched up her face. "I think I left it up in the air. I don't know."

"C'mon, what's wrong with getting to know someone? Especially someone who would completely understand your work demands?" Fischer pushed.

"I don't know," Lisbon repeated. "I'm not in a rush to decide anything. There's not a time crunch, here."

"Are you worried about Jane?"

Lisbon choked on her coffee. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because you're hesitant to even get to know a good guy standing right in front of you. And you have to admit, Jane's been pouty since Levi showed up."

Lisbon froze. _Since Levi showed up…_ "It has nothing to do with Jane. I didn't say 'no' to Levi. I just saw no reason to commit to anything. Yet."

"Mm," Fischer said as she sipped her own beverage. "If you say so."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I just think," Kim began, then set down her mug and stared pointedly at Lisbon. "The two of you worked so closely for so long. I think you two became a little codependent, and neither one of you like someone else coming in and rocking the boat."

"Me and Jane?" _Is this woman serious_?

"Yeah."

"Me and two-years-in-Venezuela Jane? Codependent?"

"You and gave-himself-up-by-sending-you-repeated-correspondence Jane. That one. Or maybe, I'll-stay-three-months-isolated-in-a-detention-center-until-Lisbon-shows-up Jane. That's a good one. Or how about, Jane and drop-everything-to-move-to-Austin Lisbon?" Kim picked up her mug again and shrugged. "I'm just saying—"

"Yeah, aren't you always." Lisbon snapped. "You need to understand, we went through a lot together with Red John, and we were a family at the CBI. I know you guys don't get that here, but that mattered, and it always will. To all of us. Now that it's only Jane, Cho, and myself…" Lisbon cursed the sting of tears in her eyes and tried to blink them away before any fell.

Fischer regarded her for a moment, then said cautiously, "That doesn't mean you can't give someone else a shot, let them into your little circle."

"Okay. You know what? I'm gonna go wait in the interrogation room, and forget this conversation ever happened." Lisbon said tightly, and left the other woman standing by the coffee pot looking a little stung. She believed Kim meant well, but Lisbon was starting to second-guess her resolve to be more open with her colleagues this time around, and not resist forming friendships. _C__odependent? _To an extent, professionally, she didn't deny that was true. There was no refuting Jane's value to an investigator's career. And for years, she had been his link to the inner-workings of the Red John case.

Lisbon shuffled into the softly lit observation area attached to Interrogation Room A and dropped into one of the chairs there. _Jane's been pouty since Levi showed up. _Fischer was right, that's when this most recent shift in his attitude started. He'd postured over the appearance of Ardiles, too, before once again shutting her out. He never wanted her too close, but it seems he didn't like anyone else 'rocking the boat', as Fischer had put it, either. Reflecting on the bitterness she'd felt toward Lorelei Martins a few years ago, Lisbon had to admit that she also felt threatened when Jane turned to someone outside of their friendship for intimacy of any sort.

_Oh, Go__d. Maybe they _were_ codependent_.

Certainly there had never been… more. Lisbon felt herself flush. She had once imagined that, underneath the thick veneer of guilt and his determination to conclude things with Red John in his own way, Jane's feelings for her mirrored what she had eventually acknowledged to herself she felt for him. _Good luck, Teresa. Love you..._ But how many times was she supposed to watch him pull away before she believed she wasn't what he wanted?

They'd spent years isolated to one another, comrades against Red John, eating, sleeping, and breathing the same goal. Perhaps their strong attachment was nothing more than the product of proximity, two people who feared change unable to share the person who, by necessity, had become their constant.

For what wasn't the first time since Jane's return to the States, Lisbon wondered, a sharp twinge in her stomach, what place did they actually have in each others' lives? It was man who had interfered with their fates, after all. Had a drunkard never gotten into his car, his reflexes useless with the toxins in his system as he shared the road with a young mother of four; had a killer not have targeted an arrogant psychic on TV, choosing to break the charlatan by destroying his family, her's and Jane's paths never would have intersected. And had they not each possessed what the other needed, their paths never would have fused together. So when the day came that one, the other, or both turned outside of their bond, when exclusivity of trust was no longer a factor between them, what then? Would they still find themselves invariably drawn to each other?

Lisbon sprang up out of her seat and began to pace back and forth in the little room. The only real declaration of Jane's loyalty to her was that if he were going to be forced to solve crimes, he wanted to do it with his familiar partner with whom he already had a history. She knew he also felt indebted to her, and believed he could repay his debts by restoring her career, thus clearing his conscience. Beyond that, why had he wanted her here? What was there for her to hang on to? With a lump in her throat, Lisbon considered that fate might have been right in the beginning, and it truly was just a matter of time before their paths corrected themselves and diverged once again.

But she expected that with Jane, didn't she? And she'd long determined to get on with her life, to find something meaningful apart from him. She didn't want her existence to be measured in nothing more than how often her signature showed up on case reports.

So why hadn't she been able to say 'yes' to a simple evening with another man?


	9. Chapter 9

**AN-Sorry for the delay! I don't have access to my desktop where my original drafts are due to continued lack of electricity in my area, and therefore ended up attempting to write this from memory on an iPad, which, when it comes to writing anything, is a hateful little idiot of a creature.**

* * *

Chapter Nine

* * *

Emily McCrey was… spirited. As Jane watched her lively gestures churn up the air with her fury, he could only imagine all of that energy contained in her petite body welling up into a rage against a single person. It could easily prove murderous, he thought while absently rubbing his ear to sooth it from her endless droning.

She was smaller than Lisbon, but Emily had stalked into the Austin field office with the presence of the Hulk. As Jane and Cho had escorted her into the interrogation room, not one agent they passed had been left unaware of her feelings concerning Rabat Tahir, Aaron Waters, and the _Fibbie sons of bitches_ that dragged her out here. Emily's fire reminded Jane of how he had imagined Rabat to have been when he'd toured through the deceased woman's condo; rebellion was the dominant trait in both women. No wonder Aaron had been coaxed into marriage with Rabat. Jane suspected that if Aaron felt he couldn't find happiness with the woman he loved, why not settle for a parent-approved stand-in?

"She put herself in that position, but he's the one that deserved it, I can tell you that right now," Emily spit out, shoving photos of the crime scene back toward Cho. "I don't know who did this, but with people as greedy and cold as them, anyone could've wanted to."

Cho caught the pictures before they fell from the table and looked at Emily, eyebrows bowed upward. "And what position, exactly, did she put herself in?"

"Aaron didn't love Rabat. He loved _me_, and she was going to marry him knowing that. My mother," her lower lip trembled with barely restrained vitriol, her finger poking the table, "My mother always said that the cruelest thing you can do to someone is to let them die unloved, even if it seems at the time like the nicer thing to do is to not walk away. You should let people be free to find love. No one loved Rabat when she died because she cared more about money than what Aaron really wanted. If Aaron wasn't man enough to walk away, she should have. For her own dignity, at least."

Jane moved from where he'd been leaning against the door of the small monochrome room to stand next to Emily. "She had family who loved her. Did you think about that?" She shrank away from him, her bark bigger than her bite, as he'd expected it would be.

She stared at him warily, "Did I think about that _when_?"

"How did you get your hands on dynamite, Miss McCrey?" Cho, apparently as exhausted by Emily as Jane was, finally set aside any pretense.

Emily blanched and thrust back from the table. "I didn't have anything to do with Rabat, alive or dead. I wanted nothing to do with her."

Cho once again pushed the photos of the mangled car in her direction. "I'm not thinking this was about Rabat, I'm thinking it was about Aaron. He pisses you off, but you still want him for yourself."

"No, I-I..." Her voice wavered, finally losing steam. "I don't have anything else to say."

"You're kidding." Cho quipped. But shortly thereafter, a much more subdued Emily scurried out of the Austin field office, head tucked to her chest, avoiding the gazes of the agents she'd been so happy to harangue on her way in.

"Well, hello, prime suspect." Monteleza sang to no one in particular after she was gone. "It's hard to picture our guy Aaron with her. Although, maybe he needs someone who doubles up in the personality department to make up for his deficit."

Jane, along with the rest of the immediate team—even Grayson Bordeaux, who, to Jane, seemed like a randomly occurring shadow—returned to the bullpen to convene in the space between Jane's couch and Lisbon's desk.

"She's feisty," Jane retorted. "Feisty can be kind of hot." He shot Monteleza a pointed look, then stretched out on the couch, turning on his side to leave his colleagues to stare at his back.

"We need to get a warrant pushed through for her address. If she has explosives sitting around, who knows? Aaron could be next." Fischer said.

Behind him, Jane could hear Lisbon twisting her desk chair side-to-side, a habit she often took to when she was lost in thought, and he wondered what was on her mind. When Lisbon eventually spoke, he wasn't surprised to hear she was on a different track from the rest of the team. "Who the hell is our second victim?"

"Point to Lisbon for not losing sight of that intriguing fact." Jane told the back of his couch.

"No other names came up in Emily's interview, obviously." Cho said, an edge of frustration touching his words. With information about the existence of a second victim being withheld from the media, Jane and Cho hadn't been able to ask Emily a clear question on the matter.

There was a rustling of papers, then Bordeaux's voice piped up, "Missing Persons hasn't received a report about anybody since the blast. There's been no one reported missing within the county in quite a while, for that matter. Not who hasn't already been located, anyway."

The soft squeaking of Lisbon's chair stopped, and she continued on her own train of thought, "Why would this second person be on the floor of Rabat's car? If you assume she was there against her will, how would someone the size of Emily stuff a human being into the back of that vehicle?"

"And why," Jane rolled over to look at Lisbon, "Doesn't Rabat notice this stowaway? If the woman was alive enough to move, she'd be alive enough to make some noise. Why doesn't Rabat seem to acknowledge there's a passenger in her car before it explodes?"

"There's still the possibility that Rabat did this to herself, and wanted to take someone with her." Monteleza offered.

"Oh, but we were so sure it was the boyfriend," Jane cracked. The agent levelled him with an unamused glare.

"Emily as a suspect wouldn't rule out Waters." Abbott said. "She would have had an accomplice for any heavy lifting, and he'd fit the bill. Bordeaux, I want both of their phone records, and let's find out if Emily had problems with anyone else, or if anyone in her circle has been unaccounted for in the last two days. Fischer, get the warrant for her home, make sure Judge Schaller knows we need it ASAP. Lisbon, take Jane and find someone who will talk at her place of work. Cho, start looking into her online social network."

Everyone began to file out of the bullpen to attend to their assignments, including Jane, when Lisbon called his name. He turned to find her standing behind her desk, arms crossed over her chest, already protecting herself from an anticipated rebuff of whatever she had to say. He hoped he could prove her wrong.

She tipped her head at him. "You have a theory, and you were trying to get me to guess it. Just tell me." He smiled, pleased that she'd understood him, but not yet willing to part with more than breadcrumbs when it came to his suspicions.

He shrugged. "I do have a little hunch. But I was going to disobey direct orders and go with Cho to confirm a few things before sharing with the class, since he's going to be the one fiddling with computers." Her hands moved to her hips and he felt the need to add, "If you don't mind."

"Jane, if you can point us all in one direction, we could close this case that much sooner and make people feel safe again." He hated when her eyes had that pleading look in them, but he equally hated when she argued with him about details and police garble when they both knew he'd end up right. Well, usually, anyway. He'd be able to show her soon enough what he was thinking, and hopefully with information on hand to let them move forward legally since the FBI was such a stickler for that stuff.

"In due time, Lisbon. Have fun with the coworkers. Don't be too feisty." He winked at her, then sauntered off to find Cho who was, in all likelihood, already with Jason Wylie in IT. But when he stepped into the elevator that would take him the necessary two floors down, an open palm slammed between the closing doors, and Abbott pushed his way into the confined space with Jane.

An uncomfortable moment passed as the elevator began its descent before Abbott began, "Listen carefully to me, Jane. You leave here free each day, ride around in that God-damned Airstream trailer provided for you by taxpayers, and now I have to live with the knowledge that it's all based on a lie." Apparently, Lisbon wasn't the only one who suspected he knew more than he was sharing. Jane braced himself for the worst, because no one had ever mentioned certain revelations that had come to light during the Michael Kirkland case, particularly the one about Jane's list of Blake Association names being a sham. "If there is another explosion, if other people are harmed in this explosion, and if the whole time you had information that could have prevented it, I will spend my life ruining yours. I have no love lost for you, right now. Am I understood?"

Oh. Well. That wasn't as bad as he'd anticipated. "Yes, sir." Jane said, meeting his boss's gaze unwaveringly. Abbott, his lips pressed tightly together, didn't budge when the elevator stopped and opened on IT's floor. "This is my stop. Nice chatting." Jane said, and hurriedly left Abbott behind him in the elevator. He shook his arms and let out a rush of breath once he heard the tap of the elevator doors close, trying to release some of the tension that had coiled up inside of him. His efforts failed completely when, through the windows ahead, he caught sight of Lisbon and Monteleza climbing into her car. Jane rolled his eyes and spun to his right to enter IT's main office, where he found everyone motionless, gaping up at him.

It's possible he may have hit the door a little too hard on his way in.

* * *

While Cho tapped around on a computer keyboard, a pile of various origami creatures grew on the desk beside him. Jane noticed Cho's frequent irritated glances that fell on his paper zoo, but he was bored out of his mind having long received most of the information he'd been looking for. The least Cho could do was talk to him. "Why do you think agent Monteleza is still on this case? No one's really thinking terrorism, anymore."

"Grow a pair or stop moping," was Cho's answer.

Jane dropped the giraffe he'd been in the middle of creating. It seemed everyone was determined to keep him off balance, today. He debated between feigning ignorance, and conceding that he knew exactly what Cho meant. He settled on the latter. "That's nice, Cho. You're still a romantic under that indifferent façade."

"Life is too short, Jane. You know that as well as anyone." Cho sighed and sat back from the computer. "You know the one thing that gives me peace about everything that went down with Kirkland? In her own way, Emily McCrey said it. Look what Grace and Wayne got for putting aside the excuses. If they had to d-" Cho hesitated, caught on a word whose bitter taste Jane knew well. "They died loved. They were happy."

Jane got the impression Cho had been stewing on this topic for a while, and now that the can of worms and been opened, he was going to receive a hefty dose of honesty from a man who didn't mince words. "Lisbon and I are not… Grace and Rigsby were different."

"They were two people who came up with reasons to avoid going after what would make happy because they feared ending up unhappy. It looks as stupid on you and Lisbon as it did on them."

"We're not the same. _Lisbon's_ not the same. Everything we've been through…"

"I remember I wasn't the only one who once gave Rigsby crap about Grace, and love, and romance. Never would have guessed he'd end up being the brave one in that department." Jane didn't know what to say to that, and at his silence, Cho added, "She loves you."

"I believe that she does, in some way. That she did," Jane amended, "But whatever trust she had, it's-it's gone. I see that every time I look at her." _What makes you think I want to work with you again..._

Cho gave him a _bullshit_ look, and sounded uncharacteristically earnest when he said, "She stood by you for how many years? And she's here, now. She deserves more credit than you're giving her." Jane was startled, but also moved by the display of emotion from his stoic colleague, humbled by the man's protectiveness of Lisbon. They'd all been quite a team at the CBI, but they really had become an extraordinary family. Cho persisted, "You make all sorts of decisions that affect her life, and the one you don't want to make without being sure of her reaction is telling her how important she is to you. You're a coward."

_I've never argued otherwise_, Jane thought. But Cho was wrong, this time. His progress may be slow, but he was ready to move forward, to live in the present with the woman who had, as Cho said, stood by him for so long. "Well, I've given her something to think about, at least." Jane said, then patiently waited for Cho to understand his meaning.

Cho sized him up, confusion in the subtle narrowing of his eyes. Finally, he let free a rare smile, but surprised Jane doubly when he said, "You're fooling yourself if you think that's what she's waiting for." At Jane's turn to look confused, Cho explained, "Whether she even realizes it, she's waiting for you to stop only looking out for yourself when it comes to the things that matter. To actually let her in and include her. That's it. And that means on cases, too. Be her partner."

"Mm," Was all Jane could manage. He slumped back in his seat, but didn't resume making his giraffe, nor did he pick up any other piece of paper to fold. Instead, he allowed Cho's words to scratch painfully away at the remainder of the walls he had constructed years ago. Cho, a force to be reckoned with when he wanted to be, had him pegged. It was himself he was so often protecting; Jane fiercely guarded everything that would need to be laid aside, or laid open, or laid to rest altogether in order to fully embark on a relationship with another person, but where did that leave Lisbon in the meantime? In all of his self-preservation, he neglected to ensure that she knew exactly where she stood with him, hoping she'd hang on to the bits and pieces and stumbling confessions until he felt he was worthy, like dangling a precariously frayed rope over the edge of a cliff instead of risking getting close enough to that terrifying edge to just pull her to him.

That was the difference in her, he realized. He'd come back to a woman in the middle of letting go. Of him. Jane felt an unfamiliar twinge of nerves as a new sense of urgency settled inside of him. How long had he really expected her to hang on to that ragged rope without any sign of him drawing her near?

The silence suddenly seemed too deafening, and Jane belatedly said, "That goes for you, too, I presume. On cases, I mean."

"Yes." Cho deadpanned. "It would do wonders for our relationship," He then returned his attention to the computer, effectively ending one of the most expressive conversations Jane could ever remember having with the man.

* * *

It was good to be home. So, so good to be home. Her food. Her living room. Her bed, her huge queen-sized bed that gave her ample room to stretch out. Her tub. Lisbon sighed contentedly. Her fingers were still pruned from the length of time she'd spent soaking in that tub after she'd arrived home, today. When she'd walked through her front door, her mind heavy with everything that had transpired over the last forty-whatever hours, it had nearly undone her when only her brother's voice came through on the blinking answering machine, and she'd desperately needed to lose herself for awhile.

Now, dressed in old jeans and her favorite football jersey, she moseyed barefoot into her kitchen and grabbed a frozen entrée from the freezer. Normally she would treat herself to the simple pleasure of putting together a warm meal from scratch, but there was no promise of enough time, tonight. Fischer was heading a raid on Emily McCrey's property, and Lisbon suspected Jane didn't believe in the angry ex's guilt, which would mean she could be called back into the office at any time once the raid didn't pan out; Levi and Abbott would want to regroup, start a new plan of action. Lisbon wanted to actually get a chance to put her feet up and eat before she had to make the inevitable trek back to Austin.

She slid her plastic dish into the microwave and was setting the heating time when she thought she heard her doorbell chime under the beeping of the microwave buttons. She paused, and the bell rang again. Lisbon peeked around her kitchen doorway to stare at the front door. _Who the fuck_? She opened the door just a crack, making a mental note to get a peephole installed.

"Uh, hi. I heard they let you free after coming up empty with those coworkers and thought you might like some company." Jane clenched a brown paper bag in one hand, and held out plastic spoons to her with the other. "Ice cream?"

A half smile tilted her mouth. "What flavor?" She asked through the gap.

"It's called the 'kitchen sink', or something equally appealling."

She opened the door for him. "Is there a special occasion? Was the McCrey raid successful?"

"No, and it's not going to be," He said as he slid past her and made his way toward her kitchen, where she soon heard the clattering of bowls being pulled from her cabinets. "I like that jersey," he called to her. "Even with jeans." When he came back into her living room, bowls and a scoop in hand, she saw his gaze make a quick trek down her body before he went to make himself at home on her sofa, shedding his suit jacket and prying open the container of ice cream. She blinked.

It had been a strange weekend, and Lisbon didn't anticipate it getting any less strange as Jane chatted happily with her while some B movie went ignored on her TV. She felt as if she was getting a live recitation of one of his letters. From Venezuela, she'd gotten further into his mind than he'd ever allowed throughout their partnership at the CBI. He'd tell her about his days, his opinions, and his hopes, openly shared with her a side of himself she hadn't known in the flesh. It was surreal to her as they sat here now, each with a bended leg up on the couch so they could face one another, the half gallon of ice cream between them, to have him talking so freely. They discussed the last several months, how he was, how she was, and countless little nothings. They ribbed on a particularly bad scene in the movie, and he related to her his thoughts about the case without reserve, surprising her with who he believed was behind the explosion. And when nothing more than a small puddle of melted confection sat between them, Lisbon still wasn't ready to see the evening end and offered to make them tea.

When she'd finished wrapping her now thawed entrée and boiling water for their drinks, she returned to her living room with two steaming mugs to find Jane picking up, inspecting, and setting down various items around the room.

"Stop futzing," she scolded.

"I'm not futzing."

"You're futzing. Leave my stuff alone."

"Lisbon, I have never once in my life futzed, and I most certainly haven't started now." They grinned at each other, then his smile sagged, and she watched his expression turn melancholy. He lifted up a framed photo. "You put out a picture of them. Their daughter was beautiful."

"She was." Lisbon stepped close to him and looked at the photo she had received from Grace just days before the news of their… Lisbon swallowed and steadied her precarious emotions. "Um, I'd only met her a couple of times, but Maddy was a really sweet baby." Her vision rippled with the tears that collected in her eyes and she moved away to set the hot tea on her coffee table. A moment later, something about what she'd just seen stopped her cold. Lisbon marched back to Jane where he was still studying the picture of van Pelt and Rigsby's little family, and stared at the hand that held their photo close to his face. "Did you lose it?"

"No," he said simply, and set the frame back down on her desk.

Lisbon stuffed her hands into her back pockets and gave him a playfully suspicious look. "Who are you and what have you done with Patrick Jane?"

His gaze was somber as he told her, "I've asked him to get himself together, Lisbon."

She took his left hand and pressed her thumb into skin that had always been covered by his thin metal band. "And that involved getting rid of this?"

"It involved... freeing myself. It's—" She remained quiet while he struggled to find words. "It's symbolic, taking it off. That ring, it-it shouldn't be tied to misery, which is what living in the past eventually does. It makes you miserable. And that's not fair to Charlotte and Angela because they were… really incredible. They brought me only happiness while they were here." A look of pure affection passed over his features, and she knew he was seeing them in his mind. Her heart twisted for him, and he gave her a slight smile. "Don't look at me like that. I still have it. I just put it where it's… where it's serving its place as a part of who I am, rather than defining me today, holding me in one place. Holding me in a place where they… they haven't even been all these years."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I am." He said, seeming almost surprised by his own answer. "I get to take with me wonderful memories and a thousand different things that changed me for the better. Remember what I said about the trailer? I'm finally getting that I don't have to simply let go to move forward. I can take everything good with me, and still add more that's good." His voice was rough with emotion and his eyes were wet, but his gaze never wavered from hers when he added, "Really good."

He took it off this morning, Lisbon realized. She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "That easy?"

A laugh escaped through his nose. "Nothing... nothing's been easy for years, Lisbon. But it's something I've-I've needed to do. For myself. And for them."

All she could do was nod, uncertainty gnawing at her. "As long as you're happy."

"Yeah." He bit his lip, and she watched his gaze move to their hands. He curled his fingers around hers, and Lisbon tried to decipher what he was thinking as he looked back up at her. She felt unnerved. She had long been convinced that the day he gave himself permission to move on from the guilt that bound him to the past, the guilt that caused him to push everyone away, was the day she'd lose him for good. Anything would be possible for an unburdened Patrick Jane, and as soon as that contract with the FBI was finished, he would have freedom in every sense of the word. Is this why he'd been so distant? Was he already thinking in terms of goodbyes?

"Jane?" She whispered, hating the way her voice sounded so hoarse. He continued to gaze at her with a dark indeterminable look in his eyes, and then he freed her hand, lifting his to gently touch the tips of his long fingers to her jaw. Before she could register his intent, she felt the firm press of his mouth against her own. She drew in a startled breath through her nose and shut her eyes, an aching burn beginning to seep from her chest and up to her ears. Jane brought up his other hand to frame her face as his lips slid across hers once and then again before he pulled back, just barely, to look at her with dazed, half-lidded eyes. Little puffs of his breath brushed across her cheeks along with his thumbs, and when he tilted his head and moved toward her again, Lisbon met him in the middle. She brought up her own hands to grasp his forearms as she stepped closer to him, their kisses increasing in fervor. When she felt his tongue against the seam of her lips, she opened for him without hesitation. And as he swept into her mouth, she vaguely wondered if she it was hurting him, the way her fingers dug of their own volition into his wrists.

Through the rush of blood in her ears and the thundering of her heart, Lisbon thought she heard her cell trill. Without releasing her mouth, Jane put one hand over her back pocket where she kept the phone, effectively blocking her from answering it, though she hadn't tried. But the movement broke through the dizzying fog she was in, and when another ring obnoxiously shrieked through the quiet of her house, she pushed away from him. He dropped his hands and stared at her, looking as bewildered as she felt. She fumbled for her phone and answered it with trembling fingers, wincing when her voice wasn't any steadier than her hands. It didn't help that Jane's gaze dropped to her lips while Fischer's voice went mostly unheard in her ear, so she turned away from him to concentrate on the call.

When she hung up after no more than a minute, Lisbon felt Jane's touch on her back as he came around in front of her. Still reeling from their kiss, she had trouble meeting his eyes. This wasn't right. It was all too fast. The ring, the kiss. Levi. Jane's moodiness, this whole evening… what the hell was he thinking? She watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest as she tried to steady her own breathing before saying, "You… Um, you were right. The raid turned up nothing."

"Lisbon…" he said, still appearing dumbstruck.

She was feeling more flustered by the moment and began to back away from him. "Earlier, you told me... you told me you had a plan to close the case?"

"Lisbon…"

"It's about time you let everyone on board with you, Jane."

"Teresa…"

Her voice sounded too high to her ears when she said, "We'll talk later, okay?"

He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it without a word, regarding her with yet another look she couldn't quite distinguish. Finally, he licked his lips and nodded. "Call Fischer back."


End file.
